


Feathers

by dgalerab



Series: Among Us [4]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Mutants, Bokuto gives a lot of hugs, But also huge amounts of fluff and hurt/comfort, Humor, M/M, May be mentions of prostitution/sexual trafficking/child abuse but very minor and all in the past, Minor: Daisuga, Minor: Iwaoi, Minor: UshiTenSemi, Multi, Other Ship Tags Will Be Added As I Go, Will be a longfic!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-09
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-10-01 14:33:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 99,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10192073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dgalerab/pseuds/dgalerab
Summary: "I don't want to be in charge," Keiji says. "I just really wanted to stab that asshole in the face."(AKA: the story of how Bokuto Koutarou ended up the leader of a mutant gang.)Standalone fic, but will contain spoilers for Burn and Savior.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written a sequel like this before and I have no idea what I'm doing.
> 
> Anyway as usual a few notes about what to expect as far as content warnings:   
> \- I try to give warnings before explicit sex or anything gorey/sensitive but this fic will be a lot lighter than Burn.  
> \- If I've missed anything/you need something else tagged, let me know.  
> \- If you feel like something should be added to the main tags, let me know
> 
> Updates are weekly (plus or minus a day or two... usually minus...).
> 
> Also, many, many thanks to my beta fxvixen, who is like... at least 80% of the reason I'm able to keep this series going without collapsing in on myself.
> 
> Sex this chapter is from: "“I don’t know,” Keiji says, and rolls on top of him, kissing him." to "“Sorry,” Koutarou says, laughing a little."

Bokuto Koutarou wakes up to a face full of cloth.

After a moment of speculation, he realizes it’s a face full of boyfriend, because his boyfriend is, apparently, an actual cat, and has, for some reason, decided to sleep slumped over Koutarou’s _head._ The fact that he’s almost kneeing Koutarou in the face and his own foot is about to fall off the bed because of it does not seem to bother Tetsurou.

He sighs and wraps his arms around Tetsurou’s waist, levering him up, so he can slide him into the space beside him. Tetsurou mumbles sleepily and blinks up at him. “Morning,” he slurs.

“When did you lay down?” Koutarou asks, brushing the hair out of Tetsurou’s face.

Tetsurou’s eyes look up at him, squinting. Back in the days when he was human, Tetsurou had had dark golden eyes. Koutarou had grown up with them, and he can still remember the exact shade. Ever since he was kidnapped and given powers by a shadowy laboratory almost two years ago, though, the whites of his eyes have become a glossy black and his irises have been an eerie red.

Koutarou doesn’t really mind. They don’t manage to make the scrunching of his nose any less cute. “Uh,” he says. “Late? Early? Morning.”

Koutarou snorts and kisses Tetsurou’s nose. Tetsurou has been working the workload of at least four people lately. Koutarou suspects there’s something behind it, because usually he only takes the workload of three people, but at least he has a day off coming up soon. Maybe Koutarou will ask Kenma if he has plans to tie Tetsurou up and demand that he share his problems, or if he minds Koutarou participating with a hug or two. “There’s pudding in the fridge when you get up,” he tells him for now.

“See you for lunch?” Tetsurou mumbles, rolling over with his pillow on top of his head before Koutarou can answer.

Koutarou laughs. “Yeah,” he says, planting a kiss on the back of Tetsurou’s neck, squeezing him tight from behind before rolling out of bed.

-X-

Once he’s changed into his running gear, he jogs over to the Institute.

The Institute is one of his favorite places in the whole world. It’s a beautiful house, with big windows, open grounds surrounding it, and the light always seems to hit it just right. It’s a safe haven for mutants, and therefore also where his other two boyfriends live.

Koutarou doesn’t even knock anymore, just dashes inside.

Sugawara Koushi is the only one awake and in the open stretch of the ground floor. He’s sitting in the kitchen, yawning over a cup of coffee, looking a little worse for wear. “Hey,” Koutarou says, checking his watch. He’s a little early. “Everything ok?”

“Sort of,” Suga says, yawning again.

Koutarou looks at him expectantly.

As the Institute’s only empath, Suga is also the Institute’s resident therapist. Or psychologist. Or… well, Koutarou doesn’t actually know, but he does know that everyone with any trouble eventually finds their way into Suga’s clutches. Or Suga finds himself in their clutches. Or both.

His schedule is about as packed as Tetsurou’s, especially after the hash of various traumatic events that have made their way through the Institute following the arrival of one Akaashi Keiji, resident kidnaping survivor, but mostly thanks to Iwaizumi Tooru (né Oikawa), resident drama engine.

As far as Koutarou knows, he deals with the emotional trauma of everyone in or around the Institute, and his only outlet seems to be occasionally interfering in the lives of others for fun instead of professionally, generally advising them to live like maniacs. He’s surefooted and generally cheery, which is why Koutarou figures most people have failed to notice that he just broke up with his two girlfriends a few months ago and has been drinking coffee like a machine lately.

“Bah, I’m fine,” Suga says, waving his hand. “Things have been pretty calm lately. Thanks for asking, though. Most people don’t.”

Koutarou leans over to hug him tightly, and Suga hugs him back, a soft smile breaking over his face. “Go on,” he says softly. “Akaashi will be mad if he woke up only for you to be late.”

He makes a good point. Keiji will make that Face that he’s getting really good at. He blanches at the pure thought of it and scrambles up the stairs, skidding into the room. “Good morning!” he says.

Keiji looks up from where he’s tying his shoes. “That is my least favorite oxymoron,” he mutters.

“Hey! I thought I was your favorite boyfriend!” Koutarou cries.

Keiji pauses for a moment, then sighs. “That’s not what oxymoron means, Koutarou,” he says, finally, but Koutarou is already grabbing the long feather he gifted Keiji at some point to tickle Kenma’s nose.

Kenma flips him off and worms his way further under the covers. Koutarou laughs, pulling the blanket up onto Kenma’s head all the way before snuggling on top of him to wait for Keiji.

Unlike Tetsurou, Keiji and Kenma are born mutants. Kenma takes the life and powers of anyone he touches, and in the past few years had managed to acquire strength and flight through an unfortunate bit of manslaughter, while Keiji’s pheromone control is slowly turning out to be the world’s most intense super power ever.

It’s been a little less than three years since Koutarou stumbled on Keiji using his seductive abilities to pick pockets for the alcoholic who kept him as his son for the experiments and perverse pleasures of a sadistic doctor, and in that time Keiji has gone from shy, terrified stray to a force of nature with a harsh, harsh sense of humor.

Koutarou has never been more proud of another human being before.

“Let’s go,” Keiji sighs, standing up like his bed is still begging for him to come back.

Koutarou rubs his cheek against Kenma’s back and bounds over to follow Keiji out the door.

“Hey,” he says brightly, once they’ve gotten into a good jogging pace.

“Yes?” Keiji says, his eyes rolling lazily to meet Koutarou’s.

“There’s this movie, right? It’s a fancy movie, you know, like the stuff you like to read, with the… you know, the covers and…”

“Pretentious,” Keiji offers.

“Yeah, sure, I guess, but I like the color palette and since it’s your kinda thing I wondered if you wanted to see it with me tonight? Like a fancy date?”

Keiji’s lips quirk gently into a smile. “Are you calling me pretentious, Koutarou?” he asks.

“I said fancy!” Koutarou cries.

“Indeed you did,” Keiji says. “Fancy implies a nice restaurant, though. A candlelit dinner, perhaps a string quartet…”

“That sounds stuffy,” Koutarou mutters. “What about a picnic? We can watch the sunset while we eat and then go watch our fancy movie?”

Keiji smiles again. There’s not much risk of him saying no. Koutarou knows as long as food is involved, Keiji is always ready for anything. Well, and he tends to enjoy doing things with Koutarou, too. “Alright, I suppose,” he says. “It should be a fancy picnic, though.”

“Of course!” Koutarou says. “I’ll put boat hats on everything!”

Keiji looks at him oddly.

“You know,” Koutarou says, gesturing with his hands. “Like the napkins at the restaurants. They look like the little… origami boat hats.”

Keiji bursts out laughing so hard that they have to stop running for a minute.

-X-

By the time they’ve gotten back, Kenma is reluctantly crawling out of bed, pulling on his gloves and an elegant hoodie, his black hair spilling over his shoulder, the blonde tips almost in his lap when he’s bent over. It’s really hard sometimes, not to be able to reach over and play with that beautiful hair, but touching Kenma is a dangerous game, one that Koutarou tends to mess up.

He sits on the third bed in their room, the one that used to be Tooru’s but is now more a shelf than anything, and watches while Keiji gets changed into a baggy sweater and a nice pair of skinny jeans that show off his hips.

Kenma yawns as they head downstairs, sleepily picking little bites off of Koutarou’s huge breakfast, while Koutarou chatters at Keiji. “You coming with us to campus?” Koutarou asks.

“I don’t have class,” Kenma mumbles.

“Are you playing hookie again?” Keiji says. His own breakfast is even larger than Koutarou’s, but he eyes Kenma’s hands as though warning him against trying to take any of Keiji’s food.

“No,” Kenma says, glaring. “I stopped skipping last year.”

“A likely story,” Keiji says.

Kenma stands up and snatches a small cake from Keiji’s plate, stuffing the entire thing into his mouth and stalking away, somehow both ignoring Keiji’s scandalized look and clearly relishing every moment of it.

“You’re gonna be late if we don’t head out soon,” Koutarou says, before Keiji can figure out a way to exact revenge.

Keiji huffs, but he walks over to campus with Koutarou anyway. Koutarou kisses Keiji goodbye, watching as he walks to class, then heads into the shower in his dorm.

Tetsurou is already gone, probably at his second TA job. He’s definitely busier than usual. Come to think of it, Keiji’s been having a lot of  whispered conversations with Tetsurou lately, maybe Koutarou should be worried? Kenma hasn’t mentioned anything, but then again, mentioning things is not really Kenma’s strong suit. But they’ve known each other long enough that Kenma usually comes to him when he has something to talk about that he can’t talk to Tetsurou about. Like… Tetsurou himself.

The fact is, Tetsurou has been having a rough time after Tooru’s latest debacle. Other than the three of them, Tooru had always been Tetsurou’s best friend, but lately they’ve barely spoken.

Koutarou knows why. It’s because Tooru’s “latest debacle” was something so far out of the realm of reason that Tetsurou, always a man of reason, had reacted entirely wrong at every turn. And Tetsurou hasn’t ever dealt well with failing his loved ones. He’s been avoiding Tooru, and Tooru, while he doesn’t seem mad, has been giving him the time to come around.

Koutarou wonders if Tetsurou has been overworking himself to make up for it. But then Kenma would be the one he’d be having secret conversations with, not Keiji, because Kenma is the one that’s known Tooru as long as Tetsurou.

Maybe they’re plotting something? They are both notorious plotters.

Koutarou sighs and gets dressed, heading over to the studio.

Koutarou himself has worked a job next to school since he was fifteen and his parents kicked him out of the house after they found out he was pansexual. Or rather, since they found out he was with a guy at all. Tetsurou’s parents had let him stay with them, but Koutarou had always felt it was his responsibility to at least pay for his own food, if they were being so hospitable.

Lately, though, he’s been getting commissions, and he’s been able to drop some of the hours he works doing odd jobs around town and focus on art.

Which means he spends most of his days in the studio on campus, which is his second favorite place after the Institute, especially on days like these, when most people have classes and Koutarou can come in to paint alone and enjoy the quiet.

Koutarou is a loud person, usually, but he likes being in the quiet. It’s calming and inspiring at once, kind of like being around Keiji.

He drops his bag under a paint riddled table and pulls out his latest canvas, ready to get to work. The painting he’s doing lately is particularly colorful, and it draws him in so quickly that hours pass before he notices that at some point during his work, he’d gained some company.

When he notices that he’s being watched, he nearly shrieks. Or maybe he does shriek a little. But just a little.

Tooru smiles at him wryly. “Sorry,” he says, his chin on one of his hands while he spins a pencil in the air over his other hand lazily. “Didn’t mean to startle you. You were just very into your work and I didn’t want to interrupt.”

Ever since he and Hajime had run off to Hawaii to get married, Tooru has been using Hajime’s name. Keiji, who has always preferred to use people’s last names, has been struggling. Kenma and Tetsurou, who never liked to admit they thought of Tooru fondly enough to refer to him by his first name, have also had their fair share of slip ups.

Koutarou thinks having two Iwaizumis is kind of confusing, sure, but he is more than aware that Oikawa Tooru and Iwaizumi Tooru were different beings entirely.

He’d always kind of felt for Oikawa. Oikawa had been shunned by his parents for being a mutant, sort of like Koutarou and his sexuality, and it had left him a fragmented, confusing person. Kind of like Koutarou.

Still, they hadn’t really been _close_ friends. Even though Oikawa had always been a well meaning person, despite his many, many complexes and hang ups, the way he existed as a series of jagged mirrors disguised by exceedingly flamboyant smoke didn’t really sync with Koutarou’s mood swings and constant need for affirmation. They’d had some nice conversations, always had fun together whenever they hung out with common friends. But they hadn’t really… been close.

Iwaizumi Tooru, though, is the Tooru who had set the record for number of times hitting rock bottom, stopping to find a way further down, and hitting rock bottom again in a single year. From developing telepathy, a power that came with migraines seizures and in most cases death to briefly actually dying, Tooru had swept through more worst case scenarios than any one person ever should have, and at a stunning pace.

The smoke and mirrors that had been Oikawa Tooru had been crushed and melted into diamond, leaving only the core of what Tooru had always been: kind, clever, funny, and _insanely_ dedicated. Part of Koutarou is awed by him, wants to paint the otherworldly aspect he’s taken on lately a thousand times. The other part feels closer to Tooru than ever, the painfully human Tooru who still breaks down and needs to take his migraine medication and needs hugs and burst out crying in the middle of the cafeteria on his first day back to class.

In other words, Iwaizumi Tooru.

“What’s up?” Koutarou asks, brightly.

Tooru smiles back. “Nothing, really,” he says. “Iwa-chan has a lab today until six, and I didn’t want to go home alone.”

“Bad night?” Koutarou asks.

Tooru flinches, showing his left hand and the bandaged hand. “I burned my hand on the stove. It sort of reminded me of… well.” He looks away, his face bitter. “It wasn’t even so bad a breakdown, but… I just hate not knowing what’s going to set me off. I’m so mad at myself about it, you know?”

“I know,” Koutarou says. He claps him lightly on the back. “Don’t worry about it. You can hang out here any time,” he assures him.

That earns him a chuckle. “Thank you, Kou-chan. It always helps to be with you a little. You just… radiate happiness.”

“Oh, hey!” Koutarou cries. “You know what cheers me up?”

“What?” Tooru asks. There’s a tremor in his hands that Koutarou hadn’t noticed before, but his eyes light up at the question.

“I’ll be back in a second,” Koutarou says, getting up to dash into the closet.

“Wait!” Tooru cries, sounding panicked. He grits his teeth when he notices the slip up, and continues steadily. “I really don’t want to be alone right now.”

“It’ll really just be a second,” Koutarou protests, but he holds his hand out for Tooru to take anyway. “But come on.”

Tooru latches onto his hand like a leech, wrapping his body around Koutarou’s arm as Koutarou opens up a storage room. “We got some defective cans of paint a while ago. They’re ok color-wise but they’re really clumpy and they’re not great for anything.” He pulls down a crate of the cans, and Tooru has to let go of his hand to take the crate in his arms. “You got it?”

Tooru nods. He’s looking less pale already.

Koutarou perches on a chair to grab the crate with the smocks. “So anyway. I’ll put down a couple of papers and we can just go wild with the paint. It’s cool ‘cause everything gets really colorful.”

“I see,” Tooru laughs.

Koutarou throws two smocks onto the crate and grabs a roll of extra-size paper. “You wanna switch?”

“I’m fine,” Tooru says.

They spread out the paper together, weighing it down with some rocks that were lying around the studio, and then lever open a few cans. “Ok, ok,” Koutarou says, trying to reign in his excitement. Tooru grins at him. “Watch. I can do a handstand.” He dips his fingers in the clumpy yellow paint, squeezes off the excess, and then jumps onto his hands.

He grins back at Tooru upside down.

Tooru gasps. “Oh my gods,” he whispers. Koutarou cocks his head as best he can while upside down. “Kou-chan, I wanna do an alien abduction.”

Koutarou swings himself back down, leaving an impressively nice set of hand prints in his wake. “Huh?” he asks.

He doesn’t get an answer, because Tooru is excitedly pulling off his shoes. “I’m gonna walk along the paper and then you can pick me up and it’ll look like I got abducted!”

“Oh!” Koutarou says excitedly. “That does sound cool!”

It’s strangely nice to see that Tooru’s obsession with aliens and space has remained intact, even after he’d spent a few days in space, trying to keep a maddened alien force rampaging in his brain from killing everything he loved. It’s a sort of bold, brave passion that makes Koutarou feel better about how he, too, loves with all of his heart, all the time.

Tooru splashes his feet into the green paint happily. He squeals. “Ew, it’s so cold! Ew!” he cries, but he spreads it along his feet anyway and bounces up, walking carefully to make the best possible footprints. “See, I’m just walking along, and then…”

Koutarou bounds up behind him, lifting him just enough for his feet to slide along the paper a little. “Aliens!” he cries, tugging Tooru around.

Tooru shrieks with laughter. “Take me away, aliens!” he cries, giggling, and Bokuto swings him a little before setting him down a ways away, laughing as well.

He puts his hand on his hips, surveying their work. “What do you say happened here, Detective Iwaizumi?”

“Agent,” Tooru corrects.

“Detective Agent,” Koutarou says quickly. He realizes only a moment too late that obviously wasn’t what Tooru meant.

Tooru sighs, but then clings to his leg. “It was the aliens! They’re coming for us, I tell you! The invasion has only just begun!” He shakes Koutarou until Koutarou stumbles back and has to sit down to avoid stepping on Tooru’s face.

They’re both laughing, but Tooru stops suddenly. “Detective Agent,” he says, very seriously. Koutarou blinks at him. “I believe I’ve caught the suspect…” He pauses for effect and then yells, “ _red handed!”_ and pushes a hand covered in red paint into Koutarou’s face.

“I’ve been betrayed! You were an alien all along!” Koutarou cries. He splashes green paint into Tooru’s face. “You’re already changing color!”

“Blargargarg!” Tooru cries in a bizarre imitation of an alien as he dives for the red paint.

By the time Tetsurou pokes his head in after his class, they’re both at opposite ends of the room, flinging paint at each other. “Stop him, he’s an alien!” Koutarou shrieks, running behind Tetsurou.

Tetsurou pauses, looking pained and awkward. But then he gives Tooru an apologetic look. “He is my boyfriend. I must defend him.”

“I understand,” Tooru says, with a soft tone that doesn’t fit the situation, like he knows what Tetsurou is actually apologizing for. And then he allows Tetsurou to fake tackle him and pull him onto his shoulders and spin him around before letting him slump onto the ground. “I’ve been defeated!” Tooru moans. “I’m dying…” He grabs the can of green paint and splashes the rest of it into Tetsurou’s face.

Tetsurou looks down at him with a tired look.

“That was my guts exploding into your face,” Tooru explains.

“Uh-huh,” Tetsurou says, dripping with clumpy green paint.

“Don’t look at me like that, you’re the one that killed me,” Oikawa sniffs.

“Even in alien death, you suck,” Tetsurou says dryly.

Tooru grins up at him, and there’s a moment of understanding between them, like maybe they’re finally settling back into the new version of their old friendship.

“Oh, hold on, I think your acid blood is melting me,” Tetsurou says, and in an artistically swift motion, he dumps the can of red paint on Tooru’s head. “There go my guts.”

Tooru sighs and wipes the excess paint away from his eyes.“Thank you,” he says as Tetsurou collapses into laughter on top of him. “My race eats human guts.”

“Do you also eat fruit?” Tetsurou asks. “Because I got a basket from one of my students from last semester. Also, you’re dead, you can’t eat anything.”

“Oh! I want a banana!” Koutarou cries, waving a hand excitedly.

Tetsurou gets up to pull the basket out of his backpack, pulling out a banana for Koutarou.

“Gimme a grape!” Tooru cries from the floor, opening his mouth.

Tetsurou sticks a grape into his mouth, and Tooru chokes, slapping his hand away. “I meant throw it into my mouth, not stick your fingers into my mouth, you animal.”

“Sit up then, you’re gonna choke,” Tetsurou says.

Tooru groans and sits up, opening his mouth. Tetsurou throws another grape gracefully into his mouth. “Thank you,” he mutters darkly around the grape, chewing it up and then opening his mouth for another.

They keep going until they run out of grapes, attempt the same with an orange, and hit Tooru in the nose, and then they resign themselves to sitting on the floor, splitting up the orange like civilized people.

“Anyway,” Tetsurou says, when they finish off the rest of the fruit. “I’ve still got grading to do.” He ruffles Tooru’s hair. “You look good, space nerd. Take care.”

Tooru says something cheerful around a mouthful of banana and waves.

The world feels righted once again.

Koutarou sees Tetsurou out, giving him a quick kiss before Tetsurou takes off. By the time he gets back into the room, Tooru has fallen asleep against the table. Koutarou snorts and pulls off his sweater, folding it and putting it on the ground so he can ease Tooru onto it.

Tooru snores gently, curling around the sweater.

He unrolls his latest project and gets back to work on it, Tooru’s soft breaths accompanying him as he works.

Hajime slips into the studio an hour later. “Hey,” he says. “Is my idiot here?”

Koutarou puts a finger to his lips, then points down at Tooru, sleeping peacefully under the table with Koutarou’s sweater shoved in his face. Hajime laughs quietly. “You guys had fun,” he whispers.

“Yeah,” Koutarou says as quietly as he can muster. “I think we wore him out, though.”

“He had a bad night last night,” Hajime says, squatting down beside Tooru. “I was gonna skip my lab today, but he said you’d cheer him up.” He smiles up at Koutarou. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Koutarou says. “I had fun. And Tetsurou was here today, I think they’re finally working through… their thing.”

Hajime gives him a grateful look, then taps Tooru on the shoulder. Tooru flails awake, rubbing at his nose. “Hey there, Messykawa,” Iwaizumi says.

“Messywazumiiii,” Tooru whines, extending his arms, asking to be picked up.

Hajime laughs. “Yeah, yeah. Come on, let’s go home.” He turns his back. “Come on, climb on.” With a little trial and error, Tooru finally manages to clamber onto Hajime’s back, nestling his face into Hajime’s neck and seemingly falling back asleep. Hajime nods at Koutarou. “Have a nice evening,” he says. “I’m gonna scrub this one clean and tuck him straight into bed, isn’t that right, Tooru?”

Tooru murmurs something into his neck, but he doesn’t look up. Hajime chuckles. “See you, Bokuto,” he says softly. Tooru makes a vague attempt to lift his head and stretches out his arm in something of a sleepy wave.

“See you!” Koutarou chirps with a wave of his own.

-X-

He decides to dress up for his date with Keiji, if they’re being all fancy about it, but in the end he only finds one wrinkled shirt and one of Tetsurou’s nicer blazers. Hopefully Keiji won’t mind.

He trots down the stairs of his dorm and makes his way towards the park where they’d decided to meet, running into the corner store to buy food for their picnic as he goes. He rifles through the food, looking for snacks and prepackaged meals that Keiji would like, when something catches his eye.

It’s gone the moment he sees it, slipping behind one of the shelves.

He looks around to see if anyone else saw, but there’s only the hum of the cashier in the distance.

Koutarou heads down the shelf slowly, quietly.

Something or someone is moving behind the shelf.

He tries to come off as nonchalant in his movements, heading towards the end of the aisle.

At the last moment, he leaps around the corner, trapping the lurker in the corner with a small, “Aha!”

A small girl looks back at him with a terrified look. She’s green and has a row of sharp, sharp teeth and a pair of antenna, and she’s hiding a candy bar behind her back.

Koutarou pauses, looking up at the cashier and back at the girl. “Hey,” he says, softly. “You can’t steal that.”

She looks ready to bolt, shaking with fear, and Koutarou’s heart flops a little. He pulls the change out of his pockets and does a quick mental tally. “I’ll buy you two candy bars, alright? Go on, wait outside, I’ll bring them to you.”

After all, there’s no telling what the cashier’s reaction will be to a little girl who looks like that, especially not if she was sneaking around, planning to shoplift.

She watches him suspiciously, but she picks a second chocolate bar and hands them both to Koutarou, then scampers away.

Koutarou straightens up, picking out another weird candy for Keiji, then walking over to the cashier. He pays quickly, and goes outside, pulling out the candy bars and an apple for good measure.

The girl puts out her hands expectantly.

“Alright, just a sec,” Koutarou says. “Do you have parents? Anywhere to go?”

She stares back at him, eyelids blinking sideways instead of up and down.

“I know a place. A safe place,” Koutarou says, squatting down. “Where you wouldn’t have to steal things anymore.”

In a move too swift for him to follow, she snatches the food out of his hands and takes off.

“Hey!” he cries. “Wait!”

She’s already long gone.

“I just wanted to help,” he mutters to the thin air.

-X-

Keiji’s finger prods him in the forehead suddenly, making him start back.

He looks beautiful in the gentle sunlight right now and Koutarou had been staring at him as his mind had wandered. He’s drawn back to the moment now as Keiji’s long finger rests between his eyebrows, wriggling lazily against his brow. Keiji himself is laying back against the tree, limbs relaxed and uncharacteristically disorganized, a guruto flopping between his teeth as he sucks out the yogurt sloppily.

“What are you doing?” Koutarou asks, a laugh building in his chest.

“Smoothing out that frown,” Keiji says, not letting the yogurt packet out of his teeth as he says it. “Starting with this crease here.”

“I’m not frowning,” Koutarou says, but even he can hear the sulk in his voice. “I’m with you, so what would I be frowning about.”

“Very romantic,” Keiji says, with a wry smile. “But you’re still sulking.”

“Nu-uh,” Koutarou mutters, sulkily.

“If you see that little girl again, I’m sure she’ll be a little less cautious,” Keiji says. “You lost me on the first try too.”

Koutarou huffs. “That doesn’t count! I had destiny to help me get you back!”

“I’m certain destiny will help you out again if it’s important,” Keiji says dryly.

Koutarou sighs. “Why can’t all mutants be safe?” he asks. He can feel a sort of lopsided sadness growing in his chest, even though he’s with Keiji and Keiji is being the sort of easy happy that doesn’t come naturally to him and which Koutarou lives to see, and not ruin.

Koutarou hates the thought of ruining precious things. It makes his brain itch in a way he can’t describe.

Keiji sighs and slips closer, kissing him. A small gust of pheromones bubble up around them, and the pressure building in Koutarou’s chest dislodges. “Koutarou,” Keiji says, settling into his lap. “Breathe.”

Koutarou does as he’s told, taking a big breath and then blowing it out into Keiji’s face. He chuckles at the nose scrunch it gets him. “I want to give every scared mutant in the world a hug,” he says.

“Well,” Keiji says. “Since I am often scared, you can always hug me extra.”

Lately, it’s hard to remember how much Keiji’s been through, because if anything, other people should be scared of Keiji, but sometimes he says things like that, and Koutarou wants to tuck him under a blanket and protect him from the world. Even if he could probably protect himself just fine.

Instead, he pulls Keiji close and hugs him extra tight, shaking them both playfully.

“I need some more limbs,” he says, suddenly.

“Excuse me?” Keiji asks, startled into a bewildered monotone.

“For hugging,” Koutarou says. “A thousand arms, all for hugs.”

Keiji draws back and raises an eyebrow at him. “And you think that will make the people you hug… less scared?”

“Fluffy arms,” Koutarou tries.

Keiji’s mouth almost smiles. His eyes laugh uproariously. “Oh, that’s much better, then,” he says, and barely even flinches when Koutarou tickles his side, whining _You’re making fun of me, Keiji!!_

-X-

The rest of their date goes well. Keiji is in a good mood, especially since Koutarou keeps getting him food. They’ve snuck about half their picnic into the super fancy movie theater.

Fortunately it’s only the two of them in the theater, so no one minds that they keep eating the whole way through. Or that Koutarou keeps doing his best to say Smart Things about the movie, resulting in a Keiji who is nearly sliding into Koutarou’s lap, shaking with silent laughter. Or that Koutarou ends up sending him over to the edge of their row because _I was really trying to say something good that time, you’re so mean,_ or that Keiji wins his favor back by tossing jellybeans into his lap from the edge of the row.

Later, he fishes the jellybeans back out of Koutarou’s lap and eats them anyway, ignoring Koutarou’s whisper of _gross, Keiji_.

Keiji is still doing the thing where he’s not giggling on the outside, but he’s glowing like he’s giggling on the inside when they leave the theater. “You’re an asshole,” Koutarou says.

Keiji’s eyes glitter at him in the dark. “I suppose I’ll just go home then,” he says.

“No,” Koutarou mutters. “Come over.”

“Oh, are we going to have _fancy_ sex?” Keiji says, his long fingers closing around Koutarou’s.

“Shit,” Koutarou says. “I shoulda got a candle.”

Keiji laughs openly at that. “Or rose petals.”

“Yeah,” Koutarou mumbles.

“I’m being sarcastic, Koutarou,” Keiji says. “Those things would just make me feel childish. I’d be uncomfortable.”

“Oh,” Koutarou says, greatly relieved. “Well ok then.” He chews at his lip. He’s starting to feel like Keiji is thinking about something else, building up to tell him something, and that always makes him nervous. But Keiji doesn’t seem upset or anything, so it’s probably ok.

They take the trail to the Institute at a sleepy, slow pace, collapsing on Keiji’s bed together. Kenma isn’t home, but his laptop is tossed on his bed, so he can’t be far either.

Keiji stares up at the ceiling for a while before languidly rolling into the crook of Koutarou’s arm. “This was all very nice, Koutarou,” he murmurs. “Thank you for treating me.”

“Yeah,” Koutarou murmurs. “No problem.”

Keiji’s finger trails up and down the bicep of the arm he’s not lying on. Outside, the cicadas are loud and it feels like the whole world is sleeping outside of them, like they’re all that’s left awake anywhere. Of course, Koutarou thinks, that’s silly, because how could the cicadas be making so much noise if they were asleep?

“Can cicadas chirp in their sleep?” he whispers, in an odd lull.

“I don’t know,” Keiji says, and rolls on top of him, kissing him.

Keiji is always a little stiff during sex, especially at the start. It had taken a lot of trial and error to even get to the point where Keiji was ready for anything at all. A lot of asking “Is this ok?” and a lot of “Yes. No, wait, no, it’s not.” A lot of ups and downs, a lot of crying on both ends, but a lot of laughing too.

But whenever they start, Keiji’s hands are always too rough and his eyebrows always scrunch together.

Koutarou runs his hands up his sides, thumbing at his spine. Keiji doesn’t move to take off his sweater, but he does sit up and pop the button on his jeans. “Would you like to top or bottom, Koutarou?” he asks, sounding very efficient.

Koutarou looks up at him quietly for a moment. “Whichever you want,” he says, because it really doesn’t matter to him, as long as Keiji’s happy. Which he seems to be, but he also seems nervous.

Keiji shimmies out of his jeans, then pulls off Koutarou’s shirt, and then his pants, then settles back onto his lap, thumbs kneading over Koutarou’s abs.

“You ok?” Koutarou asks.

Keiji smiles, seeming a little relieved at the question. “Yes, I am,” he says. “Quite.”

He leans down, kissing Koutarou a little softer. Koutarou lets his hand rest on Keiji’s back and the other come up to stroke at his jaw, and Keiji’s hands come up to support himself on Koutarou’s collarbone.

They kiss for who knows how long. It doesn’t seem to matter, honestly, but it’s getting hotter and Keiji’s hips are grinding against Koutarou’s with increasing fervor, and Koutarou is starting to wonder if it would be rude to ask him if he’s decided which of them is going to top or bottom.

Keiji pulls back before he can get to it, though. “I’ll bottom,” he says. “But I think it’s best if I prepare myself today.”

“Ok,” Koutarou says.

So Keiji is nervous.

Koutarou wonders if he should bring it up. Keiji doesn’t like to be rushed, but Koutarou doesn’t like waiting. Is this the sort of nervous where he should let Keiji have it his way so he doesn’t panic? Or the kind of nervous where Koutarou can pester him and Keiji will just glower and then explain?

At any rate, right now it’d destroy the mood to start annoying Keiji, and since Keiji has taken the time to pull the lube from the desk drawer and is working studiously on opening himself up, Koutarou thinks it’d be pretty rude to interrupt him.

Instead, he watches Keiji’s face as he presses those fingers in, slow and steady, lashes fluttering against the smooth skin of Keiji’s cheek as his eyes slide closed and his mouth drops open, letting out careful, quiet huffs.

Koutarou feels ensnared by the entire sleepy, hot stillness of the moment, lying motionless and staring at Keiji as Keiji balances over him and moans, just once, long and careful.

“C-can I?” Koutarou asks, sliding his hands downwards in question.

Keiji’s eyes open, hazy and wry at once. “Grab my ass?” he asks. “I told you, you don’t need to ask.”

It’s true. For some reason, palming at his ass has never bothered Keiji, but it’s not so much a matter of not setting him off, right now, it’s more like Keiji has suddenly become the master of the whole universe, a conductor for a sleeping symphony of cicadas, and Koutarou doesn’t want to move at all until Keiji lets him, lest he wake a world that Keiji isn’t the emperor of.

He runs his hands along Keiji’s thighs and his ass, and after a while Keiji gasps and removes his fingers, steadying himself for a moment. He sits back to grab the lube again and lube up Koutarou’s cock.

“Just stay still, alright?” Keiji asks.

Koutarou isn’t sure he could do anything else. Unless Keiji asked, in which case he could do anything, probably.

Keiji slides back, head falling back as Koutarou’s cock slips into that heat. “Oh, fuck,” Keiji whispers, and Koutarou feels dizzy.

Keiji leans forward, finding an angle that he likes. He kisses Koutarou once, then pulls himself into a good rhythm, slowly falling apart on top of Koutarou while Koutarou watches in a stupor, almost forgetting his own arousal in his fascination with Keiji’s.

“Jerk me off,” Keiji demands, once he’s panting and shivering from Koutarou’s cock.

Koutarou scrambles to do as he’s told, and Keiji rewards him with the world’s sexiest moan. Koutarou tries to keep his hand steady, but he’s starting to notice just how close he is, how his own hips are jerking occasionally.

Keiji comes with a cry, spilling all over Koutarou’s chest, and as his insides tighten around Koutarou like a vice, Koutarou finds his eyes slamming closed as he arches and comes into Keiji.

Keiji collapses on top of him, letting Koutarou wrap his arms around him as they come down from the high.

After a while, Keiji shimmies up, Koutarou’s soft cock flopping out of him. He makes a face. “I think I probably should have used a condom today,” he mutters, brow furrowing. He doesn’t look particularly distressed, just a little frustrated. “When we started I was certain I wanted to you to come inside.”

“Sorry,” Koutarou says, laughing a little.

Keiji sighs. “Come wash off with me,” he says.

“Ok,” Koutarou says, letting Keiji pull him up and lead him into the bathroom to shower.

After the shower he finds himself yawning and rubbing at his eyes. Keiji smiles at him softly, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “Are you staying the night?” he asks.

“I got class in the morning,” Koutarou murmurs. “I think I’m gonna go home.”

“Should I walk with you?” Keiji asks.

Koutarou yawns. “Nah,” he says. “I’m not that sleepy.”

Keiji pauses. “Tomorrow I have to tell you something. Nothing bad, just…” He winds his thin sweater around his finger. “I meant to say it today, but saying it at the end of a date like this makes it seem bigger and scarier. But it’s not. Anyway, tomorrow, please pester me.”

Koutarou yawns again. “Alright,” he says. If Keiji’s asking to be pestered, it can’t be a bad thing, anyway, because Keiji can’t stand being pestered when he’s upset. “G’night.”

He kisses Keiji softly.

“Goodnight, Koutarou,” Keiji whispers back. “I love you too.”

Koutarou waves back at him, making his way towards the stairs. “Love you too,” he murmurs.

“Please text me when you get home,” Keiji says, smiling wryly. “I would hate to find out you fell asleep in a tree somewhere on the way home.”

“Ok,” Koutarou says. “Actually sounds kinda nice. It’s warm out.”

“Then please give me the precise coordinates of the tree, in case you get stuck up there.”

Koutarou is pretty sure he’s being made fun of, but he’s almost down the stairs, so he ignores it.

He makes his way down the street, slowly. It can’t be much later than ten, but it feels like the middle of the night. It’s been an eventful day, in an odd, calm way, he realizes. Lots of people, lots of noises, lots of Keiji. Sleep will be nice, he thinks. He feels as though he could sleep for a month.

Something darts out of sight in the corner of his eye, and he finds himself waking up as he searches for the source.

There’s another shuffle, another flash of movement, and then he finally catches sight of a pair of eyes staring at him in the dark.

It’s the little girl from before.

He smiles. “Hey there!” he says. “You disappeared earlier. I was worried about you!”

She’s silent, extending her hand.

“What’s your name?” he asks, taking the offered hand.

She doesn’t answer, dragging him along gently.

“Are you alone out here?” he asks.

She tugs him along until they get to a manhole cover, and she lets go to start tugging it up.

“Do you live down there?” Koutarou asks. She struggles with the cover, so he reaches forward to lift it for her, setting it aside. “Do you have anyone else who takes care of you?”

She lowers herself into the hole, then waves at him to follow.

Koutarou takes a look around the dark street. After all the things that have happened in Tooru’s storm of misfortune, he wonders if maybe he should call someone before following a stranger into an unfamiliar place. But she’s just a little girl, and Koutarou just wants to make sure she’s safe.

“Ok,” he says, and follows her down the ladder into the sewer.

It’s actually not so bad down here. There’s not really any sewage, as though someone has cleared this section. Or maybe this section doesn’t work for sewage. It’s not like Koutarou knows much about sewers. It’s kind of damp, but the tunnel is large and it doesn’t smell bad.

The girl turns around and presses a finger over her lips, slowly beckoning for him to follow. Koutarou creeps after her, pulling his phone out and turning the flashlight on. The girl takes his hand and leads him forward.

The further they go, the more Koutarou realizes he probably should have called Keiji, especially because Keiji would have said, _No, Koutarou, of course you shouldn’t follow a stranger alone into a dark tunnel in the middle of the night, even if it is a little girl._

Unfortunately, at this point he doesn’t have any signal, so he can only imagine what Keiji would say if he called him now. Probably something like, _You did what now, Koutarou,_ in that sharp voice he gets sometimes.

He’s so absorbed in sheepish shame because of imagined Keiji he almost jumps when another, much taller face looms into the light. But before Koutarou can shriek, he notices that the tall face, while very pale and very gaunt, is just sort of shy and sort of curious.

Koutarou’s shoulders relax. “Hey there,” he says. “Is this your…” Koutarou measures his words for a moment. The face that’s peering down at him in the ghostly light of Koutarou’s phone, bald and sort of bony, a greyish, green tinge to it, is hard to place, agewise. But he seems younger than Koutarou, probably. “... brother?” he tries. Probably not a parent.

“You’re…” the face says, a gnarled hand coming up to reach for him. Probably the hand attached to the face, though the proportions seem sort of wrong. Koutarou wishes they had more light.

Suddenly, both the girl and the face startle like children being caught with their hands in cookie jars.

“You,” says a deep voice behind him, and it doesn’t sound shy or curious. It sounds cold and terrifying. “You are not supposed to be here.”

Koutarou looks back, and in the faint light he can only make out a set of black eyes and a surgical mask. And then a hand closes over his face, and then there’s nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Did Koutarou make it home last night?” Keiji asks.
> 
> “Huh? I don’t know, when did he head out?”
> 
> “Ten? Eleven?” Keiji asks.
> 
> “Oh, man, I passed out right after nine and today’s my day off,” Tetsurou mumbles. “I just woke up, so I have no idea.” 
> 
> “I asked him to text me when he got home and he didn’t, and now he’s not picking up his phone,” Keiji says, tossing a pillow at Kenma’s bed to wake him up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is probably the most stressful chapter of this whole story. Sorry.
> 
> Warnings for a few quick mentions of rape/trafficking (nothing explicit, and all in the distant past), and a panic attack.

Keiji wakes with a start to the sun shining in his face. He rubs at his eyes sleepily, his phone dropping beside him as he does so.

His phone.

 _Right_.

He must have dozed off while waiting for Koutarou to text him. He sighs and picks up his phone, unlocking it with the expectation of finding at least five texts.

He frowns when he finds that Koutarou hasn’t sent a single one, and it’s well past when he’d meant to wake up.

He dials Koutarou’s number, but it rings straight through to voicemail. Keiji’s stomach flips. He tries to call again, but he just gets voicemail again.

Instead, he tries Tetsurou. Tetsurou picks up after a few rings. “Yeah?” he says, gruff like he just woke up.

“Did Koutarou make it home last night?” Keiji asks.

“Huh? I don’t know, when did he head out?”

“Ten? Eleven?” Keiji asks.

“Oh, man, I passed out right after nine and today’s my day off,” Tetsurou mumbles. “I just woke up, so I have no idea.”

“I asked him to text me when he got home and he didn’t, and now he’s not picking up his phone,” Keiji says, tossing a pillow at Kenma’s bed to wake him up.

Kenma groans and doesn’t move, so Keiji gets up to retrieve the pillow.

“Alright, hold on, let me get dressed and I’ll check the studio. He probably lost his phone again, the dumb owl,” Tetsurou mutters. A moment later, though, he murmurs an added, “Though he didn’t leave a note,” sounding a little worried.

“Thank you,” Keiji says, whacking Kenma over the head repeatedly with the pillow until Kenma sits up and tears it out of his hand, immediately flinging it through the open window.

“That seemed a little drastic,” Keiji says.

“You are the worst boyfriend anyone could ever ask for,” Kenma says, glaring at him.

“Koutarou didn’t text me when he got home last night,” Keiji says. “I’m worried about him.”

Kenma groans, running his fingers through his long hair. It’s smooth enough that the gesture tames it almost instantly, as though Kenma’s hair somehow leached all the ruliness out of the hair of all his boyfriends. “Ok, ok, I’m going to get dressed,” he sighs. “Probably lost his phone.”

They end up tracing the route from the Institute to the dorms, searching for Koutarou’s phone, occasionally calling it to see if Koutarou picks up.

Tetsurou meets them, looking worried. “Yeah, he’s not in the studio,” he says. “And I managed to find one of his classmates… they say he wasn’t in class this morning.”

Keiji’s heart skips a beat. “It’s not like him to miss class,” he says.

“Maybe he overslept,” Kenma says.

Keiji feels dizzy. He doesn’t realize how dizzy until Tetsurou’s hand is on his elbow. “Breathe, Keiji,” he says, very gently steering him to the nearest set of stairs. “Try sitting down, alright?”

Keiji tries, but his legs fold under him and Kenma has to catch him and guide him down, his hand coming up behind his neck to help Keiji put his head between his knees and try to regulate his breathing.

“I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation,” Kenma murmurs, rubbing Keiji’s back. “Just catch your breath and then we’ll think this through.”

Keiji nods, lacing his hands together behind his neck to brace himself and counting the breaths. It’s been awhile since a panic attack hit him this hard this quick, but the idea of anything happening to Koutarou is too much. His brain spins through scenario after scenario. What if he was hit by a car? What if he was taken by one of Keiji’s old enemies?

Tetsurou’s hand comes down beside Kenma’s to rest firmly on his back. Hazily, Keiji can hear Kenma talking to Tetsurou, so Keiji tries to focus on that instead of his suddenly chaotic mind.

He realizes after a moment that Kenma isn’t talking to Tetsurou, he’s on the phone with someone else, which means he must be as worried as Keiji, since he only uses his phone willingly in life or death situations. Strangely that makes Keiji feel a little better, like he’s not just being childish about panicking.

He sits up, still focusing on his breathing. Tetsurou rubs between his shoulders comfortingly. “Little better?” he asks.

Keiji nods, taking a deep breath.

“We’re telling Ukai,” Tetsurou tells him.

“He’s getting Shimada on checking hospitals,” Kenma murmurs, pulling the phone away from his mouth to say it.

Keiji nods, comforted by the idea of the young, kind police chief being on the case.

“Hold on, I’ll call Oi… Tooru,” Tetsurou says, pulling out his own phone. “He might be able to sense him. Or something.”

Keiji nods. He tries calling Koutarou again, but there’s still no answer. He puts his phone away and instead starts picking at something on his finger.

The Iwaizumis arrive only a few minutes later. Tooru immediately wraps an arm around Keiji’s shoulders, ruffling his hair and letting Keiji lean his head on Tooru’s hip. It’s strangely comforting. “Alright,” Tooru says, eyes sharp, not even bothering to wait for them to explain verbally before he starts assembling information telepathically. “So he probably didn’t make it home last night.”

Keiji shakes his head.

“You’ve already traced his steps to the dorm,” Tooru says, chewing at his lip. “Let’s do that again, but this time I’ll see if I can sense him nearby. Maybe he fell somewhere.” He helps Keiji up, cupping his jaw in his hands. “It’s going to be alright, Kei-chan.”

“This is your fault,” Keiji murmurs. “Isn’t it your job to absorb all the bad luck we could ever accumulate?”

That makes Tooru laugh. “Sorry,” he says. “I’ve been slacking, it seems. Let’s see if I can lose a limb on the way or something to make up for it.”

Hajime elbows him in the side. “Don’t joke about that shit, asshole,” he mutters.

Tooru sticks his tongue out at him and drags Keiji along with his arm slung over his shoulder, cheerfully babbling about the latest astronomical discovery. His presence is surprisingly helpful, even as he tapers off, letting go of Keiji to focus instead on his powers.

-X-

They spend much of the day searching, first the walk between the Institute and campus, then the campus itself, but there’s nothing. Tooru is starting to look tired, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “I think I need a break,” he says, before Keiji can suggest the same.

Keiji nods. “Of course,” he says.

He bites at his lip.

Tooru’s eyes follow him, zeroing in on his idea before Keiji can even formulate it. It’s sort of eerie to watch, but Tooru just pauses and lets him talk. “What if this has something to do with the labs?” he asks.

The labs that had used Keiji’s DNA to create serums that produced mutants for a criminal empire, specifically, under the command of a certain, now dead, mob boss, and whose son and heir is indebted to Keiji.

“I thought most of them were shut down already,” Kenma murmurs.

“Yes, but…” Keiji murmurs.

“You want to call in Ushijima,” Tooru says. “Just in case.”

Hajime’s eyes narrow. He hasn’t been very fond of Ushijima. Perhaps because a year or two ago, Ushijima had gone down a long a tumultuous road full of mistakes, most of which Tooru had born the weight of. Or maybe because he’d once thought he was in love with Tooru, only to sort of accidentally cause his death.

“I don’t mind,” Tooru says, softly. “Even if he doesn’t know anything, he has the resources to help us search, I’m sure.”

Hajime’s eyes narrow further, and Tooru ruffles his hair cheekily.

“And Iwa-chan will live,” he adds, meeting Hajime’s eyes with a soft look. There’s a moment of silent communication between them, Tooru holding Hajime’s head gently and Hajime crossing his arms and glaring him down.

Finally, Hajime deflates. “Tooru’s right,” he says, his voice gruff. “It… can’t hurt to try.”

Tooru smiles at him with a smile that is part smug, part teasing, and part comforting, and Hajime huffs at him angrily, but leans his head on Tooru’s shoulder anyway.

Keiji sighs and pulls out his phone, dialing Semi Eita.

His relationship with Semi is an odd one. They’re cousins, and as cousins, they share a lot of the same DNA. Which means that they also share some very, very unpleasant life experiences. The only difference is that while Keiji had been subjected to a certain sadistic doctor’s manipulations, Semi is a few years older and a little bit less lucky, giving him the chance to experience the endgame of those manipulations: being sold into sexual slavery.

Which makes Semi one of the few people who understands, intimately, what Keiji has been through, and also one of the biggest messes Keiji has ever seen.

Lately, he’s been going to therapy, which is better than his old life goal, which was to take bloody revenge on anyone who had harmed him, and which, in general, makes him more pleasant to talk to, but it’s slow going, and in the meantime Keiji sees too much of what he himself could have been in Semi.

Still, he’s relieved when Semi picks up with a gruff and confused hello.

“Hi,” he says. “I’m calling in my favor.”

“I think it’s a standing favor, actually,” Semi says. “But alright.”

Keiji pauses at that. He still feels odd about the whole situation. The favor in question is in exchange for a small suggestion that had set things right for Semi, Ushijima and their men, but they act as though he’d saved all of them single handedly. It feels like too much fanfare. But he’s not going to waste it, even if it’s slightly unreasonable. “Koutarou is missing,” he says. “He didn’t make it home last night and we’ve got no idea what could have even happened to him.”

“Hospitals?” Semi asks.

“Nothing so far,” Keiji says.

“You’re thinking it could have been someone from the labs,” Semi says.

“Yes,” Keiji says.

“I’ll ask Wakatoshi if he’s heard anything,” Semi says. “Should… should we come help look?”

“I’d appreciate any help you can give us,” Keiji says.

“Is… is Oikawa alright with us showing up there?” Semi says, hesitant.

Keiji looks up at Tooru, who nods quietly.

“He’s fine with it,” Keiji says. “Thank you.”

Semi is quiet for a little while. “Of course,” he says, and hangs up quickly.

Tooru smiles. He’s rather fond of Semi, who had, at the peak of things, sacrificed his life for Tooru’s. Of course, only after he’d gotten Tooru into that mess in the first place, but…

Keiji sighs. No, he still doesn’t know where to place Semi, but at this point he would take just about any help he could get.

-X-

They end up back at the Institute, Tooru with his head in Hajime’s lap, taking a nap, Ukai on the phone with Shimada, and Keiji trying not to chew his hands off while Kenma and Tetsurou continue mapping the city, Tetsurou on foot, Kenma in the air.

Semi arrives with both Ushijima Wakatoshi and Tendou Satori in tow. Tendou darts around them, a little frightened of Keiji, who may have, at some point, threatened him with a gruesome and horrifying death, and Tooru, whose body had been used to almost kill Satori. He stays close to Semi, his hands shoved in his pockets, his face flickering like a bad recording.

Ushijima is as blank as usual, but somehow even he seems to be projecting nerves, eyes flickering over to the Iwaizumis every so often. Tooru is awake, measuring the situation quietly, but unshaken. Hajime is glaring.

“I’ve started probing a few of the laboratories we haven’t dismantled yet,” he says. “There’s no signs of movement. Reon and Yamagata are doing their best to look into it in detail, but I doubt you will find him there.”

Keiji nods. “Thank you for looking into it anyway,” he says.

“However, we would be happy to help search, if you will have us.”

Keiji sighs. “I don’t mind.” He looks at Tooru, who shrugs, levering himself up and joining Keiji in the kitchen. Hajime follows sharp on his heels, like Tooru will be in intense danger if he wanders further than two centimeters from Hajime.

“You look well,” Ushijima says, softly.

Tooru pulls himself straight and stares him down. “No thanks to you,” he says haughtily.

“No,” Ushijima says, guilt leaking into his monotone.

Tooru turns to Hajime with a dramatic sigh. “Now he’s even ruining being petty for me,” he whines.

Ushijima pauses, looking as lost as his stony face will allow. “Would you rather I denied it?” he asks.

Tendou jerks, trying not to laugh.

Tooru sighs. “Nevermind,” he says, flapping his hand. “Go do something useful.”

Ushijima is quiet for another moment, then says, “Alright,” and leaves the kitchen,Tendou and Semi following after.

“Oh, Eita-chan,” Tooru calls after him.

Semi looks back at him.

“It’s nice to see you doing better,” Tooru says, winking.

Semi blushes from head to toe, and scurries out of the kitchen.

Tooru laughs to himself quietly, then turns to Hajime, who looks at him with a disgusted scowl. “What?” he squawks.

“You traitor,” Hajime says. “You like them.”

“How _dare_ you,” Tooru gasps.

Hajime lets out an exaggeratedly disgusted noise and storms out of the kitchen, Tooru trailing after him with a fake wail of, “Hajimeeee… please forgive meeeee…” his fingers still gently hooked into Hajime’s belt loops.

Keiji smiles, taking a deep breath and letting go of the hand he’s picking at to follow them.

-X-

As the sun goes down, they start discussing shifts for searching. Tooru has to go home and get a full night’s sleep, though he gives Keiji a baleful look before Hajime drags him away. “I wouldn’t be any good for you if I ended up knocking myself out with a migraine or a seizure,” he says mournfully. “But I promise I’ll be back bright and early tomorrow morning.”

Keiji nods, his stomach queasy. “I know. It’s alright, Tooru.”

Tooru pats his shoulder supportively. He turns back to Ushijima, directing two fingers at his own eyes and then one at Ushijima.

Ushijima frowns at him, just more confused, until Tendou, trying _very_ hard not to laugh, leans forward and whispers, “He’s just teasing you, Waka,” at which point Ushijima murmurs a quiet _ah_ , looking precisely as confused as before.

“I’ll take the first shift,” Keiji says, once Tooru has left. “There’s no way I can sleep now.”

“We’re nocturnal creatures,” Tendou says with a grin. “Aren’t we Semi-Semi? We’ll keep you company.”

Keiji sighs, looking back at Kenma and Tetsurou, who have been out and asking for Koutarou around all day. “Alright,” he says. “Take a nap and we’ll switch in a few hours.”

Kenma nods. “Good luck.”

Keiji sighs and looks down at his phone. There’s a text from Suga. **_Still nothing from any hospitals that fits his description. Kiyoko and I are checking for sure, though_.**

Keiji wonders how awkward it is to be searching the hospitals with Kiyoko so soon on the heels of breaking up with her and Yachi, but he gets the feeling that the last thing Suga wants to talk about these days is his break up, and Keiji can’t exactly bring himself to care right now either. He texts him a quick **_thank you_ , **then follows after Semi. “So,” he says. “How have you been lately?” he asks.

“Good,” Semi says. “For me, anyway.” He’s quiet for a moment, then sighs. “Um. Actually, very good. And I just… I just feel like since things have been good… Uh… your… b-boyfriend… well um. I don’t know him very well, but he doesn’t seem like the sort of person who would… would be the one to screw good up. So I bet… I bet he’ll be fine.”

Tendou frowns at the skewed logic, but he doesn’t point it out.

Keiji recognizes it for what it is, though. Semi is a telepath, though not nearly on Tooru’s level, and he’s trying his best to comfort Keiji in the sort of childlike, optimistic way that Koutarou would. It makes Keiji want to cry, but it also feels nice. “Thank you, Eita,” he says.

Eita smiles carefully at him. “I really do think we’ll find him,” he says, quietly.

“That means a lot to me,” Keiji says softly.

“And we have been doing well,” Eita says. “We’ve been… you know. Dismantling the traffic business, funneling their legal funds into supporting mutants.” He glances at Tendou and blushes. “And um… well, I know I said I was done with the revenge thing, but Tendou and I have been sneaking into their houses and scaring the shit out of them before they go to jail.”

“Don’t sound so ashamed of it, Semi,” Tendou says with a grin. “There’s nothing purer than seeing a serial rapist crying about a zombie chicken man chasing him with a balloon animal while they cart him off to jail.”

Keiji finds himself bursting into loud laughter at that.

-X-

When dawn arrives and there’s still nothing, even Keiji has to accept that it’s time for a nap. He trudges back to the Institute, settling into his bed and dozing fitfully for a few hours before he’s back in the kitchen.

They’ve unfolded a map of the city, carefully crossing off places where they’d looked. Kenma has tried tracing his phone, but it seems to be off now. It’s certainly no longer ringing, which terrifies Keiji. What if someone has taken Koutarou? He could be anywhere, if they had grabbed him and carted him off.

Ushijima has people embedded in most government agencies, and in his work stopping trafficking he’s been instructing them to be wary of _any_ human trafficking, and his sources haven’t seen anything that would indicate that they’ve seen Koutarou, but the possibilities for where he could be are just multiplying with each square they cross off.

At this point the best possible scenario is that Koutarou slipped and fell into a ditch somewhere, damaging his phone and trapping himself somehow, which is not too encouraging.

Keiji is going to lose his mind. He cannot lose Koutarou. He doesn’t know what he’d do if he did, and he cannot bear to find out.

Around noon, they regroup yet again. Tooru looks peaked, rubbing at his eyes. Keiji hopes he’s not pushing himself too far.

Tooru shakes his head, even though Keiji hasn’t said anything. He frowns, like he’s just realized Keiji hasn’t said anything. “Sorry, I just… I don’t think I got as much sleep as I should have. I might have to take another nap.”

“Of course,” Keiji says, numb.

“I think I’ve started imagining things,” he mutters.

Keiji looks up at that. “What do you mean?” he asks.

Tooru looks at him and sighs. “I _thought_ I might have sensed something,” he says, carefully, “Koutarou-like. But Hajime and I searched the place up and down and we didn’t find anything.”

“Not even underground?” Tendou asks, looking over the map nonchalantly.

Everyone turns to look at him. “What?” Keiji asks.

“In… in the sewers?” Tendou continues. When he’s met with only silence, he tries, “Where the Fukurodani gang lives?”

“The who?” Keiji says, finally.

“Wait,” Tendou says, straightening up, the map forgotten. “You guys are the biggest collection of mutants in Japan… and you’ve never heard of the Fukurodani gang?”

“No,” Kenma says.

“Oh man,” Tendou groans, slapping his hand over his eyes. “Sorry, I thought for sure… they’re a group of mutants who are… uh… too unsightly for life on the surface. I lived with them for a while.”

Eita groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “My boyfriend used to live in the sewers,” he mutters. “This is who I am.”

Tendou’s entire being stutters, and Keiji gets an impression of the scars that lie under the mirage he keeps up over his true appearance before he rights it. “Boyfr-” he hisses to Eita before he shakes himself and looks back at Keiji. Eita blushes and nearly melts under the table. “ _Anyway,_ they’re pretty militant about not letting humans anywhere near their community, but… I mean…”

“Koutarou saw a little girl the day before yesterday,” Keiji whispers. “A little mutant girl who was very visibly mutated.”

Tendou goes rigid. “Oh man,” he says. “Is there any chance he followed her down into the sewers?”

“Of course,” Keiji groans. “He’s Koutarou, he would have wanted to make sure she was alright.”

“Oh sheesh,” Tendou says. “They’re not gonna be happy about that.”

“Can you take us down there?” Tetsurou asks, chewing at his thumb.

Tendou grimaces, but nods slowly. “Well. They won’t be too happy to see me either, but yeah, I can take you down there.” He fidgets for a moment, then points at Hajime. “There’s no way he can come, though.”

There’s a pause, and Tooru looks at Hajime slowly. The silent communication between them grows electric, then intensely vocal when Hajime suddenly roars, “Oh _fuck_ no.”

Tooru looks at them apologetically and drags his husband out the door, shutting it behind him.

There’s a long silence, though probably only because they’ve stormed far enough away that their yelling isn’t audible anymore. Keiji chews at his lip. “You think they hurt him?” he asks Tendou.

“I don’t know,” Tendou says, sheepishly. “It’s been years since I lived there. When I was there he never would have made it down at all, so… I couldn’t tell you.”

Keiji takes a deep breathe and tries to steady himself. At least they’ve got a lead. That’s what matters. They’ve got a lead, they have an idea, they might be that much closer to finding Koutarou.

Tooru comes back in, followed by a fuming Hajime. “Alright,” he says. “I’m coming too.”

“If he gets hurt,” Hajime growls, pointing at Tendou. “I’m killing you first.”

“I didn’t… ask him to…” Tendou says weakly, as Tooru mouths _I’m sorry_ at him.

“And you next,” Hajime says, pointing at Ushijima. He glances at Eita before deciding that that’s further than he wants to go with this.

“Understood,” Ushijima says simply. “For what it’s worth, after all the pain I’ve caused him so far, I would already protect Oikawa with my life.”

There’s a stunned silence. “Iwaizumi,” Tooru says, but he forgets to be petty about it, staring at Ushijima, blinking in shock. Given his powers, he’s probably the only one in the room who knows exactly how serious Ushijima is. “It’s… it’s Iwaizumi Tooru. Now.”

“Ah,” Ushijima says. “Congratulations.”

The silence ends up even more awkward.

“I don’t have very much political sway in those circles,” Ushijima says. “But I’d be happy to see what I could do to speed up the legalization of your marriage in Japan. Without causing trouble again, of course.”

“Oh, gods,” Tooru says, softly. Even Hajime seems stunned out of his stubborn hatred of Ushijima. “No. T-the rent money is… more than enough.”

“Not really,” Ushijima replies, just as matter-of-fact as ever. “But thank you for saying so.”

Keiji clears his throat. “So,” he says. “Tendou-san. You can… take us to the Fukurodani gang.”

“Um,” Tendou says, awkwardly looking back at the map. “Yeah.” It takes him another cleared throat to get back on track. “Yeah. They’ve cleared a few of the tunnels around here, so we should try an entrance on one of these streets…”

-X-

Once they’ve gotten there, Keiji stares down into the dark tunnel, suddenly frozen by the thought of what they might find when they get down there. Is Koutarou hurt? Frightened? Perhaps he’s somehow made friends with a gang of hostile mutants?

 _Well_ , Keiji thinks, as he lowers himself down. _If anyone could do it, it would be Koutarou_.

Kenma’s hand settles on his back as he finds his footing and lowers himself off the ladder.

“Uh,” Tendou says, squinting in the dark. Tetsurou holds a flashlight for him. “I think maybe they changed things a little… but I’m pretty sure I can figure out where to go.”

“I can sense them,” Tooru says. “Down here. It’s faint, but… I feel them.”

“This is where I learned to guard my thoughts, so that might be why you’re having troubles,” Tendou says. “They’re all kinda wary about telepaths. Don’t know why.”

“Well, the two of us will be able to find them from here,” Tooru murmurs.

“Yeah,” Tendou says. He pauses, then looks back at Tooru again, waving him a little closer. “Stay close.”

Ushijima nods in agreement, eyes fixed on Tooru like he’s waiting to leap in front of him to defend him from danger at any moment. Tooru clears his throat sheepishly and ignores the look, trotting after Tendou.

They get turned around a few times, Tendou frowning whenever something is different from how he remembers it, and Keiji focuses on that single desperately optimistic thought from before to try and fight the growing despair and terror.

 _He probably befriended them. He’s fine. He probably befriended them,_ he thinks, so many times it’s becoming frantic.

Ahead of him, he’s numbly aware that Tooru and Tendou are talking, like they’re old friends. “They took me in when I was a kid,” Tendou is saying. “After my parents died. It was my home for a while.”

“What happened?” Tooru is asking, his voice oddly soft.

“Well,” Tendou says, chuckling a little. “I started using my illusions to hide…” He waves a hand over his face. “You know. All the scars.”

Tooru nods like he knows exactly what scars Tendou means, though Keiji couldn’t say when he’d had a chance to see these mythical hidden scars.

“They started getting mad about how I shouldn’t be trying to look normal.” He looks down at the ground. “I didn’t want to look normal. I wanted to look like me.”

All the breath leaves Eita in a rush, and he reaches forward to grab Tendou’s hand.

There’s a shuffling sound off to one corner, and Tendou whips around. Eita draws back so quickly his elbow nearly cracks, looking embarrassed that he’d tried to take his hand at all.

A figure stands in the middle of the tunnel behind them, stooped and lit by a dim candle. There are bony protrusions all over their body, leaving them with a porcupine-like visage. The hot wax from the candle drips over their hand, but it doesn’t seem to matter to them.

“Oh,” Tendou says. “Washio. You’re still here, huh?”

Washio sizes him up, and Tendou shuffles awkwardly as he does so. “Tendou Satori,” Washio says plainly. “Been a while.” It’s hard to tell if he says this with derision or just as a simple fact.

“Yeah, uh…” Tendou says with an awkward cough. “We’re… uh… looking for someone.”

Washio waits for him to continue talking without moving.

“‘Bought this tall?” Tendou says, gesturing with his hand. “White and grey hair, gold eyes?”

“Haven’t seen him,” Washio says. “But I’ll show you to Sakusa, if you want.”

“Sakusa?” Tendou asks, slowly. “Wait, Sakusa is in charge now?”

Washio shrugs, a series of platelets shifting in his shoulder as he does so, and starts walking, letting Tendou follow after him, looking far more nervous than he had a moment before.

He leads them down a tunnel that seems to be heading even deeper. A small stream drips along beside them, then grows until it’s almost like a river. The smell isn’t spectacular, but it’s not at all what Keiji would have thought of when he imagined a sewer.

Something long and scaly sweeps through the water beside him, and Keiji’s ears go numb with panic for a moment before he catches himself. Everything bizarre down here is just a mutant. Just like him. Just… a little stranger.

Further down, there’s torches, both with enclosed flames and battery powered. Tooru shifts beside him, looking a little queasy. Keiji nudges at his elbow. “You alright?” he asks.

“This may shock you,” Tooru says weakly. “But I’m not overly fond of fire these days.”

“Me neither, if it helps,” Tendou whispers back.

Tooru smiles at him shakily.

“Do you need to go back?” Keiji asks.

Tooru shakes his head. “I’ll be alright.”

Keiji nods, looking around again to distract himself from the growing unease of the entire situation. He nearly jumps again when a set of eyes peek out of the water, then vanish when they see him looking.

They finally duck into a room, a large, cavernous opening. There are several columns stretching up and everything is lit by a strange assortment of cobbled lighting. People are milling about, each stranger than the last.

A boy a little older than him grins curiously from behind a set of glasses that Keiji suspects were intended for eye exams, a large chunk of the skin on his neck peeling away into his collar. A girl with sallow skin and shoulder length hair watches him with a smirk as a monstrous being emerges from the water behind her, towering at at least two meters. Slightly above them, there’s a boy who looks like a lemur, clambering down a column lazily.

Keiji tries not to stare at any of them too long, though he’s fascinated with the way none of them look human. Between Tetsurou’s eyes and Hank McCoy’s fur or Haiba Lev’s frankly demonic visage, he’s seen plenty of visible mutations, but these are on another level.

“Tendou,” says a cold, calculated tone, drawing Keiji’s attention back to the center of the room. There’s a tall figure there, wrapped in a tattered coat. His hair falls around his face in curls, framing a sullen look and a face covered by a surgical mask. He clutches a small candle in his hand.

“Oh man,” Tendou says, squinting. “Sakusa?”

“Tendou Satori,” Sakusa says, looking him up and down. Ushijima steps a bit closer to Tendou, though he’s careful to keep himself between Sakusa and Tooru as well.

“Lotta… new faces,” Tendou chuckles, then frowns, looking around. “Not… not a lotta old ones, actually.”

Sakusa tilts his head with an odd mix of respect and derision. “It’s been a while. I wouldn’t have thought we’d ever see you back here.”

“Trust me, I wasn’t planning to,” Tendou mutters, but he straightens and stares Sakusa down. “But we’re looking for someone. Tall guy, hair like an owl.”

“Yes,” Sakusa says, and Keiji’s heart leaps.

“You’ve seen him?” he blurts. Several sets of eyes shift to look at him.

Sakusa looks down at him too, much like someone would look down at an ant. “I killed him,” he says, simply, like he hasn’t just shattered Keiji’s entire world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok come on, I didn't kill Bokuto. Bokuto is at least 80% fine. They're gonna clear up this misunderstanding soon enough, I promise.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I killed him. 
> 
> Tetsurou’s entire world lurches to the side when he hears the words. 
> 
> I killed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings for minor gore from "A little too diverted" to "“Oh,” he says,"
> 
> I can't believe I made it a whole week before posting. Wow.

_I killed him._

Tetsurou’s entire world lurches to the side when he hears the words.

_I killed him._

“Excuse me,” Tendou says, blinking, like it had meant to be a question but he’d forgotten to make it one. “Since when did we kill people for coming down here?”

“Things have changed since you left, Tendou,” Sakusa says. He doesn’t have quite the self-righteous montone that Ushijima is so good at, but he doesn’t seem particularly conflicted at the thought. “We don’t have the luxury of tolerating humans who have seen us.”

Tetsurou almost collapses in on himself, but he sees Tooru frown in a decidedly not crushed way. He tilts his head and his eyes go slightly unfocused. Tetsurou watches him numbly for a moment before he realizes the same thing Tooru must have: Tooru had sensed Koutarou only a few hours before, and Koutarou has been missing for two days.

“What is it you do again?” Tetsurou asks, tearing his eyes away to look at Sakusa again.

“My powers are disease,” Sakusa informs him. Tetsurou is slightly terrified by the matter of fact way he says it. “A disease that is deeply uncomfortable for mutants and kills humans. But if it helps, it acts over the course of a few minutes in humans. It’s unlikely he suffered.”

Tetsurou’s suspicions increase. Unless Koutarou was lost for two days down here, only to be killed in the two or three hours since they’d sensed him, Sakusa is lying.

“Seems a little harsh, don’t you think, Sakusa?” Tendou says, eyes narrowing. He too, has caught Tooru’s eyes roving to the side, honing in on a trail only he can sense.

“I have to protect our people,” Sakusa says. He says _our people_ a little like one might say the word _traitor_ , eyes fixed on Tendou pointedly. Ushijima’s nostils flare just a little. “Speaking of which, I obviously can’t allow you back to the surface. I can’t risk you telling anyone else where we are.”

Tetsurou looks at Kenma and Keiji. Kenma is staring at him, eyes flickering as he thinks. He’s connected the dots, Tetsurou thinks, relieved. Keiji is calm, too, watching Sakusa, calculating. _Good,_ Tetsurou thinks. Now they only have to think of a plan to get to Koutarou and then get out of here.

“Sakusa, come on,” Tendou says, something slightly careful slipping into his phlegmatic drawl. “Don’t be ridiculous. Who are we going to lead down here?”

Sakusa raises an eyebrow. “Those are my orders. Or would you like to challenge me?”

“I would,” Keiji says, quietly.

There’s a sudden stillness. Tendou strides over to them quickly, tugging Keiji aside. “By _challenge_ he means a knife fight. To the death.”

“That’s fine,” Keiji says, his voice even.

Tetsurou frowns. What’s Keiji planning?

“He’s probably trained for this,” Tendou adds. “A lot.”

“Of course,” Keiji says.

There’s a small silence. “You think you can evade him? While we figure something out?” Kenma asks.

“I’m certain I could,” Keiji says.

Tendou frowns, and Tetsurou shares his apprehension, though he can’t quite place a finger on why.

Keiji shrugs away from them both. “Give me a knife,” he says, simply.

Sakusa shrugs, nodding to one of the people nearby. They scurry into the small crowd gathering, then return with a knife as Sakusa shrugs out of his coat. Sakusa takes it from them and tosses it to Keiji.

“We need to figure something out quick,” Tetsurou murmurs to Tendou, taking in the wooden face Keiji is making. Something feels very off about all this. Tendou nods.

“The rules are simple,” he hears Sakusa says, while he tries to follow Tooru’s gaze and figure out how likely it is that wherever they’re keeping Koutarou has a backdoor or not. “No powers. The fight continues until death.”

Tetsurou leans down to whisper to Kenma, who is staring back down the tunnel they entered through, thinking hard. “Maybe while Keiji is distracting him we can…” he starts to whisper.

“Um,” Semi says, though not quick enough for anyone to react before there’s a loud crunch as Keiji’s first move is to dart forward and immediately impale his own shoulder on Sakusa’s blade.

The move startles Sakusa as much as it does everyone else. In fact, the only person _not_ startled is Keiji, who wraps the impaled arm around Sakusa’s arm, immobilizing his blade hand with his body and his arm, and then efficiently kicks one of Sakusa’s legs out from under him, dropping both of them to the ground. Sakusa hits the ground on his back, Keiji poised above him.

He raises the blade so quickly that Tetsurou barely has time to think, _Oh fuck he’s literally going to murder this guy_ before he’s plunging the knife straight into Sakusa’s eye.

And then he freezes. Sakusa is still alive. He’s visibly shocked, but the knife is at most a centimeter into his eye. Keiji’s hand shakes. “Let go,” he says.

“You let go,” Tooru says, sounding as calm as he does petulant. He looks ever so slightly strained, his telekinesis a little rough around the edges for this sort of workout.

“Keiji,” Semi says. “Listen, killing him…” He elbows Tendou, who seems, at best, delighted. “ _Killing him_ won’t make you feel better. Trust me, I know.”

“I’m happy to hear you’ve turned your life around, Eita,” Keiji says, like he’s not in the process of trying to murder someone. Like it’s just another day, and he’s perfectly at ease. “And I fully support your efforts in finding peace.”

 _Holy shit holy shit holy shit,_ Tetsurou thinks. Tendou’s amazed grin only increases, his eyebrows nearly sliding into his hair.

“But if Koutarou is dead,” Keiji says, terrifyingly calmly, “then frankly, I don’t give a damn about peace, I would just like to murder this man. Preferably slowly, but a knife to the face will have to do.” His voice doesn’t so much as shake.

 _Oh thank the gods that Koutarou isn’t here_ , Tetsurou thinks.

“Keiji,” Kenma starts. “Just… think for a second.”

“I have,” Keiji says. “And I’ve decided on murder.”

“That’s not what he means, Keiji,” Tooru says. His voice quivering a little from the effort it takes to keep Keiji still. Ushijima seems to pick up on it, because he slowly inches forward to grab Keiji, careful to keep Tooru within catching distance in case he collapses. “If you’d listen for a moment…”

“Tooru, let me go, please,” Keiji hisses, a small edge finally creeping into his voice.

Tooru breathes in slowly and tries again, the quiver blooming into the tiniest shake. “Keiji, I think you should hear me…”

“Um,” says someone else from behind them.

They all turn to look, meeting a variety of expressions, from mildly horrified to just sort of intrigued to utterly stoked. One of the girls, in particular, looks like this is the most entertaining things she’s ever witnessed.

The speaker, though, looks terrified, wringing his sweater in his hands. He seems to be entirely hairless, and an odd shade of whitish green. “He uh…” he says, slowly, mumbling nervously. “He’s not dead.”

“Impossible,” Sakusa grits out. “I touched him.”

“I don’t think you want to be right at the moment, Kiyoomi,” Tendou sings, just barely avoiding laughing because of Semi’s glare.

Keiji’s eyes fix on the speaker with rabid intensity. “What do you you mean he’s not dead?”

“He’s… he’s in my bed. I’ve been trying to get the fever down.”

Tooru sags suddenly, Ushijima leaning back quickly to grab his elbow before he stumbles, but Keiji just sits back, his attention diverted from Sakusa by the sudden relief of what he’s hearing.

A little too diverted, given that he’s got a knife in Sakusa’s eye.

The eyeball pops out of the socket with a sickening squelch.

Keiji stares down at it. Tetsurou stares at Keiji. Sakusa, whether in shock or just extremely stoic, does not seem to react. There’s utter silence.

Keiji’s hand twitches, though it’s not clear whether he means to withdraw or if he just prods in morbid fascination, and the eyeball explodes over his thigh. Everyone stares at it.

“Oh,” he says, and keels over sideways, out cold.

There’s another moment of startled silence before the delighted girl from before bursts out into raucous laughter. “Holy _shit_ this is the best thing that’s ever happened in this dump,” she wheezes.

-X-

“What’s your name?” Tooru says softly, as the boy leads them through a maze of curtains and beds.

“Onaga,” he mutters, eyes occasionally flicking back at Keiji like Keiji might stab his eye out too at any moment.

Currently, Keiji looks more like a wet baby bird than anything, nursing his injured shoulder as he walks. Tetsurou’s jacket is wrapped around it as a sling. “You uh… ok there?” Tetsurou asks, dropping back.

“If Koutarou is alright,” Keiji says miserably, “please don’t tell him how I’ve behaved.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Kenma murmurs. “When I thought Tetsurou was dead I tried to beat Lev to death with my bare fists once so…” Beside him, Tendou gives him a sidelong look, like he’s reevaluating how much to pay attention to him.

“I mean… the deathly calm was… a little much,” Tetsurou says, though he has to admit, he probably wouldn’t have been as horrified if he’d thought Sakusa had actually murdered Koutarou. _Still_ though. “And the way you went… just… _straight_ for the face, but… but yeah. I mean. Yeah.”

“Here,” Onaga says, pulling aside a curtain.

Koutarou is curled up in a tattered blanket under the curtain, the little girl Keiji mentioned patting his head with a rag. Keiji stumbles forward and collapses beside him, rolling him back to inspect him and feeling his cheek. Koutarou only mumbles weakly. “He’s burning up,” Keiji says, his voice hoarse. He looks at Onaga. “Sakusa said this virus kills humans, will he…?”

Onaga tilts his head. “He’s not human,” he says, as though this was common knowledge.

Keiji blinks at him. “He is human,” he insists.

Onaga shifts a little, looking to Tooru for reassurance. “He isn’t,” he says again, wringing his hands. “I sense other mutants. That’s my ability. He’s… it’s faint, but he’s a mutant.”

There’s a long silence.

“I’ve never picked up anything from touching him, though,” Kenma says finally.

“You never picked up my telepathy from touching me before it emerged either,” Tooru says. “Maybe his powers are still dormant?”

“Or just faint,” Ushijima adds.

“But he’ll be alright, then?” Keiji says. He looks as small and shaky as he was terrifying only a few minutes ago. Tetsurou wants to scoop him up and hug him close. “He’ll recover?”

“As long as you keep his fever down,” Onaga says. “He should get over it in a few days.”

Keiji sighs in relief. “Thank you,” he says. “Let’s take him home.”

“Would you like me to carry…” Ushijima starts, before Kenma shoves him aside with a glare and lifts Koutarou into his arms. The little girl follows his movements with wide eyes, but skitters aside. He narrows his eyes at Ushijima one more time to be sure, then wordlessly stalks out of the curtains.

“Sorry about him,” Tetsurou says, grinning at Ushijima apologetically. “He’s a little protective.”

“I understand,” Ushijima says, eyes flickering towards Tendou and Semi for a moment. “There is nothing to apologize for.”

He holds the curtain for them and leaves Tetsurou to bend down and help Keiji up. “You gonna make it home?” he asks.

Keiji nods. He grimaces down at his shoulder. “I think it’s stopped bleeding.” He looks hesitant, eying Tetsurou. Tetsurou sighs, coming to the realization that, if Koutarou were really dead, he probably would want to see whoever had done it dismembered. He wraps his arm around Keiji’s waist and helps him walk.

Back in the main cavern, Sakusa is holding a rag to his eye. Or rather, where his eye was. Tetsurou’s skin crawls. “Is that disinfected?” he asks.

“Of course,” Sakusa says, though his voice is a great deal fainter than before, but still steady. “I take great care to avoid germs.” Tetsurou nearly laughs at the thought of a germaphobe disease machine, but he doesn’t exactly feel like laughing right now.

The boy with the shades whispers something to another, shorter boy, who is dripping with slime. Washio nudges him with a bony elbow, giving him a scolding look.

“Can we leave now?” Keiji says tersely.

Sakusa shrugs. “There’s no doubt that you could have killed me,” he says. He says it like, _You win_ , but also like _You were weak_. “You are the victor, even if you showed mercy.” He definitely says mercy like _weakness_. “You can do as you please.”

“In that case, goodbye forever,” Keiji says, and turns to go.

“Hold on,” says the girl who had laughed so uproariously before. “If you won, that means you’re in charge. You can’t just _leave_.”

Keiji gawks at her. “Excuse me?” he says.

“You heard me,” she says, hands on her hips. Behind her, the two meter tall sea creature she seems to be friends with shifts so it looms over Keiji. “You’re in charge.”

Keiji’s face twists into something stony, and as pale as he looks, his eyes manage to take on a piercing look. “Well, that’s lovely, but I’m not staying here,” he says, finally. “So you’ll have to manage.”

“You’re just going to stab our leader in the face and then walk out?”

“Your leader tried to kill my boyfriend,” Keiji retorts, his voice dripping with icy acid.

“Well, your boyfriend’s fine,” she says, not intimidated in the least. “And now you’re the leader.”

Keiji grits his teeth. “Fine,” he says. “I’m the leader. My first order is to find a way to choose leaders without organizing a death match. And then choose a different leader, because I. Am. Leaving.”

“That’s cheating,” she says.

“No, it’s not. You know why?” Keiji hisses. “As the leader, I’ve just declared that it isn’t. Now, as I said, _goodbye_.”

He turns and storms away.

The girl scoffs. “What a dick,” she says.

“The eyeball shit was fun, though,” the sea creature says, in a young woman’s voice.

“I like him,” says the boy in the glasses. “Better than Sakusa, anyway.”

Sakusa doesn’t seem perturbed by this admission, busy checking to see how bloody his rag is getting.

“Um… right,” Tetsurou says awkwardly. “Nice meeting you all. Sort of. Not really. But uh…” He clears his throat as he backs away. “Goodbye. Forever.”

-X-

“Well,” Tooru says, once everyone is situated back at the Institute. Hajime is nestled under his shoulder, firmly and vaguely threateningly wrapped around his waist.“This has been fun, but if there’s any more action please leave me out of it for the next three months. Though maybe you could give me a play-by-play. Over text. You know how I hate being left out of things.”

“Thanks for coming,” Tetsurou says, chuckling a little, following them to the door where Keiji is quietly thanking Ushijima for his help. His arm is in a proper sling now, the bandages up to his collarbone. Tetsurou suspects he’s only not with Koutarou because he’s still worried about his earlier violent outburst. Tetsurou makes a note to talk to him once Tooru and Ushijima are gone.

Tooru pauses, looking at Ushijima. “Ushiwaka-chan,” he says, trying his hardest to be snooty about it. He’s silent for a moment, and everyone looks twice as awkward as they did earlier. “Thanks for the rent money.”

“Perhaps,” Ushijima says, almost shyly. “You could stop calling me Ushiwaka?”

Tooru bursts out laughing, then says, very seriously, “No.”

“Ah,” Ushijima says, but once Tooru and Hajime have stepped behind him, both he and Tooru end up smiling softly to themselves. Ushijima turns back to Keiji as Tooru closes the door, now babbling at Hajime. “Anyway, as I was saying, please don’t hesitate to ask for help with anything in the future.”

Tendou leans down to murmur something into Semi’s ear. Semi scowls at him and he grins.

“Thank you, truly,” Keiji says. “But hopefully we’ll be alright now.” He bites at his lip. The new information that Koutarou is a mutant is weighing on him, Tetsurou can tell. It worries Tetsurou, too, but to be honest, it doesn’t feel very urgent. After all, it seems unlikely that anyone but Tooru would be so unlucky that they would be put in danger by a late blooming superpower.

Ushijima nods. “I hope your boyfriend has a swift recovery. I won’t keep you from him,” he says. He nods at Tetsurou as well. “Good night.”

“Good night,” Tetsurou murmurs.

Ushijima goes out the door first. Tendou takes Semi’s hand as they turn to leave, and Keiji’s face screws into a delightedly smug look. Semi blushes and shoves his face into Tendou’s shoulder as they walk out to avoid it. Tendou grins and waves at Keiji for the both of them. Keiji waves back, tiredly closing the door after them.

“I want to sleep for a week,” Keiji says. “I think my arm hurts more now that it’s bandaged and I’ve taken painkillers, is that possible?”

“You’re getting tired, that’s all,” Tetsurou laughs.

Keiji slumps forward against the door, leaning a forearm against it and resting his head against his forearm.

“Hey,” Tetsurou says. “C’mere.” He tugs Keiji around and kisses him on the forehead. “Koutarou’s fine, it’s fine. _You’re fine._ ”

Keiji winces, then looks up at Tetsurou. “I should tell him, shouldn’t I?”

“You’re making a bigger deal about this than you should,” Tetsurou murmurs. “I figured he was lying about killing Koutarou, or… honestly, I would have been all aboard the Murder Express too.”

The corner of Keiji’s mouth twitches.

“Seriously, Keiji, scary or not, it’s not like you did anything we wouldn’t have. I mean, it’s Koutarou. Kenma would probably tear someone’s spine out if they did anything to Koutarou,” Tetsurou continues. He pauses. “Actually, if you hadn’t stabbed out his eye first, Kenma might have gone at Sakusa just for good measure.”

Keiji pauses. “I can, in fact, picture that,” he says. “Except he would have been out of his mind with rage and I didn’t… I was…”

“Keiji,” Tetsurou says. “You honestly want to tell me that only seconds after finding out Koutarou was dead you were suddenly entirely sound of mind?”

Keiji huffs, slumping against Tetsurou’s chest like it’s the only thing keeping him standing. “I hate when you make more sense than I do,” he mutters. “It is horribly humiliating.”

“Hey!” Tetsurou says, trying not to laugh. “I am a doctor! I know things!”

“You are still several weeks from being a doctor,” Keiji says smugly, grabbing Tetsurou’s jaw to tug him down into a quick kiss. “Don’t get all cocky, you pain in the ass.”

“Dickhead,” Tetsurou grins.

Keiji’s eyes are dark and playful as they glitter back up at him. “Anyway,” he sighs. “Best to go check on Koutarou.”

“Gods know what he’s like when feverish,” Tetsurou says as they head to the infirmary.

“You’ve known him longer than I have,” Keiji says.

“Yeah, but I’ve never seen him feverish.”

“Then we are both in for a new and no doubt thrilling experience,” Keiji murmurs.

-X-

As it turns out, Koutarou is actually a model patient. He’s more or less awake a few hours into the night, coughing miserably at them. He fixes Keiji with a pair of hopelessly sad eyes. “I’m thirsty,” he rasps.

Kenma nearly knocks over a table in his rush to get Koutarou a glass of water. _You softie_ , Tetsurou thinks.

“Are we back home now?” Koutarou asks.

“You’re at the Institute,” Keiji says softly.

“Girl?” Koutarou mumbles, nearly falling back asleep for a moment before blinking back awake, slightly incoherent. “The girl?”

“She’s fine, she’s back there with her people.”

“There was a scary dude,” Koutarou mumbles. “So tall.”

“Yes,” Keiji says. “He tried to kill you, but it turns out you’re a bit too much of a mutant for it.”

“I’m a mutant?” Koutarou mumbles.

“So it would seem,” Keiji says, seeming comforted by the fact that he can talk to Koutarou about it. Though, with his fever as high as it is, Tetsurou wouldn’t be surprised if he remembers this all as a very bizarre dream.

“Am I gonna grow horns?” Koutarou asks.

“I doubt it, Koutarou,” Keiji says.

“Aw man,” Koutarou says. “I think ram horns’d look kinda cool, ya know? But I guess I’ll be ok with like… an extra eye.”

Keiji almost laughs at that. “Just focus on getting better, Koutarou.”

“Am I sick?” Koutarou whispers, as Kenma returns with a glass of water. Keiji helps Koutarou sit up and drink.

“Very,” Keiji says.

“That explains it,” Koutarou says.

“Explains what?” Keiji asks, smoothing his sweaty hair aside.

Koutarou squints at him, like he doesn’t understand the question. “Why I feel so sick,” he says, matter-of-fact.

Keiji can’t contain a strangled laugh at that, and Tetsurou doesn’t even bother restraining his own. “Yes, that is… because you’re sick.”

“Ok,” Koutarou says, slumping over Keiji’s thigh. “Hey. Hey Keiji.”

“Yes?” Keiji asks, his good hand resting on Koutarou’s head.

“Why are you in a sling?”

“I was stabbed a little,” Keiji says. “But it’s alright now.”

“Scary guy stabbed you?”

“Technically yes.”

Koutarou thinks about it. “But it’s ok now?”

“Yes,” Keiji says, softly enough that Tetsurou has to stop laughing to appreciate the tenderness in his voice. “Yes, everything is alright now.”

“Ok,” Koutarou says, and goes quiet.

He spends the next few days fairly aware and clearly uncomfortable, and rather upset about it as well, but he just curls up around the thigh of whichever one of them is nearest at the moment and goes silent.

Keiji sits with him the most, stroking his sweaty hair and murmuring comfort at him.

“My back hurts,” Koutarou mumbles, at some point, the most demanding thing he’s managed in several days. He takes a moment to collect his energy and, with a heroic pout, adds, “And I want ice cream.”

Keiji moves over to make room for a set of pillows, and they prop Koutarou up so he can lean back comfortably.

“What kind of ice cream do you want?” Kenma asks, playing with the hair that falls in Koutarou’s eyes. He still looks miserable and sweaty and his fever isn’t dangerous but it is enough to warrant rotations of cold packs, which Koutarou clearly hates, but tolerates with stoic silence when Tetsurou presses them to his skin.

“Green tea ice cream,” Koutarou says, tearily. “And I want gummy bears in it.”

“Ok,” Kenma says. “I’ll get it for you.” He gets up from where he’s kneeling and leaves the room with surprisingly little resistance to the idea of going out to buy something.

 _Koutarou, you spoiled little bird,_ Tetsurou thinks, trying not to grin. He’ll tease Kenma about his soft heart later.

“Am I being really whiny,” Koutarou murmurs, and Tetsurou instantly feels guilty for calling him spoiled, even in thought. Especially given that Tetsurou is generally just bratty when sick, and Koutarou has been nothing but patient. “I feel really whiny.”

Tetsurou laughs. “Trust me, Kou,” he says. “The last time Kenma was this sick, he threw a fit and nearly bit me.”

A single tear rolls down Koutarou’s nose. “Ok,” he says, his voice scratchy and feeble. He blinks at Keiji. “Is your shoulder ok?”

Keiji lets out a muffled, pained noise and wraps his good arm around Koutarou’s shoulders. “You don’t have to be paying attention to me while you’re sick, it’s alright if you’re just miserable and want ice cream.”

“Ok,” Koutarou tries again, with a sniffle.

Tetsurou presses a cold pack to his forehead, stroking his hair.

“You’re gonna be a great doctor,” Koutarou murmurs.

“Thanks, babe,” Tetsurou says, softly. “If all my patients are as well behaved at you I’ll have a real easy time of it.”

Koutarou sniffles. “Ok,” he says. He pants a little laugh, wiping away tears. It’s the sort of laugh that rolls out of a person unbidden when they’re both exhausted and on the verge of tears and painfully relieved. “I’m glad I’m not being a pain.”

“Oh,” Keiji says, softly, like he’s been punched in the gut. Tetsurou shares the sentiment.

“You’ll be back to normal in no time,” Tetsurou assures him.

“I know,” Koutarou says miserably. “I’m not worried. I just really want that ice cream right now.”

Keiji and Tetsurou both laugh, showering him with kisses to reward him for his patience until Kenma gets back.

Still, Tetsurou can’t shake the feeling that back to normal might be a bit of an exaggeration. If Koutarou ends up developing powers now, who knows what normal might be in the days to come?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week: Bokuto gets a lot of ice cream and a bad itch.
> 
> And you thought I would kill him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Turn it offfffffff,” Koutarou moans.
> 
> “The sun?”
> 
> “Yeeeeeeesssss.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man I've been feeling utterly lousy about my writing this past week or so (allergies and wisdom tooth pain mess up my mood so bad... and I have been having both in excess... yeesh) but tonight I feel fairly good about this chapter so I'm posting now before I start feeling terrible again. (The allergy/pain meds are working but not fast enough. Not fucking fast enough.)

“My back hurts,” Koutarou whines.

Keiji’s good hand descends on his shoulders without further ado, and Koutarou bites the inside of his lip to endure in silence. At least at the moment, Keiji only has one hand free to attempt to pinch the sore flesh of Koutarou’s back straight off.

It’s not that Keiji is bad at massages, per se.

Well, no.

He is.

He is bad at massages.

It’s just that Koutarou isn’t sure how to tell him that though he has a good grip on the base concept of massages and a talent for identifying the tense regions and pressing the tension out of them, the sheer brutality of his sharp fingers and firm presses probably ends up adding more tension than it alleviates.

“Oh my gods, look at his face, Keiji, you’re killing him,” Tetsurou blurts, elbowing into Keiji’s space to get at Koutarou’s shoulders instead. Keiji scowls, like Tetsurou’s elbowing isn’t secretly painfully polite.

Unfortunately, Tetsurou is… also not good at massages. He puts so much effort into finding the problem areas that he ends up massaging randomly and not getting anything done.

In his crippled state, Keiji has no choice but to shove a socked foot into Tetsurou’s face grumpily, pushing him away. “There’s nothing wrong with my massages,” he says.

“Your massages are downright painful,” Tetsurou says, shoving a hand into Keiji’s face.

“Yours are useless,” Keiji growls, slapping Tetsurou’s hand away.

“Well you’re…” Tetsurou says, and as they roll over to continue bickering and halfheartedly wrestling, Kenma’s small weight settles on the bed behind Koutarou.

He’s silent as he rubs his thumbs into Koutarou’s back. He actually is good at it, though Koutarou has never heard him say so. Probably because he doesn’t want to deal with Keiji and Tetsurou being all, _but I thought_ I _was the best at it!_ any more than Koutarou does.

“It’s itchy too,” Koutarou mumbles.

“Can’t really help with that in gloves,” Kenma murmurs.

Koutarou pouts at him, trying to communicate with his look that his only other options are the two maniacs currently trying to both gently elbow each other in the face and gently bite each other’s fingers off behind him.

And that Keiji scratches like he’s trying to take off all the skin on his back and Tetsurou scratches like a cat going at a sofa.

Kenma sighs and gestures for him to shift up to give Kenma more space to work, folding up his shirt to do his best. It’s not very helpful with the gloves in the way of Kenma’s short nails, but it’s better than nothing, and at least Koutarou doesn’t feel flayed.

He watches Keiji and Tetsurou fight as Kenma does his thing. There’s a certain softness to it, like they’re both careful to remind each other that there’s no real threat here while still nipping and kicking at each other, quietly whispering unconvincing insults at each other.

Koutarou watches them sleepily, completely failing to try to reach out and steady them when he sees them manage to bicker each other straight off the bed. There’s a thud as they land, and then they go silent, though Koutarou can’t tell if it’s shock or shame that shuts them up.

He yawns. “Can we go to get ice cream?” Koutarou says, before they start blaming each other.

“Aren’t you getting sick of ice cream?” Tetsurou says, his head popping up to look at Koutarou with unfounded judgement. Ice cream is always a good idea.

“Nope!” Koutarou says.

“I want ice cream too,” Kenma murmurs.

“Of course you do,” Tetsurou sighs. “But we’re getting real food first. You need to get your strength back up after a fever like that.”

“Feel fine,” Koutarou says, trying to twist far enough to scratch his own back.

“Are you itching again?” Keiji asks suspiciously.

“No,” Koutarou says, because now that Tetsurou and Keiji are paying attention, he can already feel the skin on his back peeling off.

“Hold on, let me look for a rash,” Tetsurou says, folding up the back of his shirt. “Where’s it itch?”

“Up at the top and over my shoulder blades,” Koutarou mumbles.

Tetsurou hums. “Doesn’t seem to be a rash. Want me to scratch it?”

“No,” Koutarou says, a little desperately, flailing to show he means it. “It’s not so bad, honest!”

“We could eat some ramen,” Kenma offers. Kenma might be lucky enough to have a permanent excuse to keep their boyfriends’ nails away from his skin, but he knows when Koutarou is in need of a rescue. “Soup is good after a fever, right?”

Tetsurou is instantly derailed by the question. “Yeah, something warm and salty, with plenty of protein…”

“Vegetables,” Keiji adds. “I’ll cook.”

“No, _I’ll…_ ” Tetsurou starts, and they both take off towards the kitchen.

Koutarou sends Kenma his silent thanks.

-X-

“You’re being quiet,” Keiji says.

Koutarou frowns from where he’s been trying to subtly rub his shoulder blade against the edge of the chair he’s sitting in. “Yeah,” he says, nervously. “Ah… it’s just… itchy.” He chuckles nervously.

“You want me to scratch it for you?” Tetsurou offers.

“Nah, I’m good,” Koutarou says.

“You scratch like a wild animal,” Keiji says, a little smugly. Tetsurou sticks his tongue out at him.

“From what I’ve heard, so do you,” Kenma says, casually slurping at his noodles.

Koutarou blanches, but Keiji only glares halfheartedly at Kenma.

Tetsurou lets out a single cackle, pointing at Keiji triumphantly. Keiji’s eyes narrow and he reaches across the table to smack Tetsurou, who kicks at him under the table, as they squabble about Kenma’s bias and how to scratch a person’s back.

Koutarou usually finds their bickering playful, and sort of fun to watch, but the itch is just getting worse and he still feels bleary from the fever and Keiji had meant to tell him something before all this, and he and Tetsurou had been sneaking off to meet together for something and Koutarou’s eaten more today than he has in the past week and he always feels worse after big meals and _that stupid itch_ and they won’t stop bickering and…

“Are you guys breaking up?” he blurts.

There’s a sudden silence and that just makes Koutarou want to throw himself onto the ground and cry even more.

He wasn’t even worried about this five minutes ago but now that the swirling cloud of itch and fever induced misery has something to bear down on, his whole body clenches around the thought, like a panicked shiver that won’t loosen up.

He tries to wiggle in his chair to at least scratch the itch hard enough that he can think through why his brain feels like it’s filled with bees. Bees that might become tears at any moment.

“No,” Tetsurou says, breathlessly. “Of course not, Kou…”

Keiji blinks at him, similarly shocked, but then he lets out a small chuckle. “Come here,” he says, holding him close. “You’re exhausted and panicking, so I’m going to use my powers, alright? Focus on catching your breath.”

Koutarou nods and breathes in, and then pauses. Usually, he can sense the subtle change in Keiji’s smell when he’s using his powers, but today he’s not sure he can pick up Keiji’s scent at all. But it must be working, because he can feel his brain breaking out of the spiralling loop of sad.

The itch is still driving him nuts, though, and as the tension unwinds it only ends up coming out as tears even harder. He tucks his face into Keiji’s shirt as the tears hit.

“We’re not breaking up,” Keiji says, letting him cry it out. “There’s nothing malicious behind our bickering, you know that.”

“Yeah, but usually you don’t have secret meetings behind our backs,” Koutarou mutters, with a sniffle. Kenma frowns at that, eyes zeroing in on Tetsurou in question. “And you said you needed to tell me something!”

“I said it wasn’t bad!” Keiji says, quickly, when Tetsurou raises an accusatory eyebrow at him. He huffs. “I told you we were too focused on keeping it from Kenma,” he murmurs at Tetsurou.

“Keeping _what_ from Kenma,” Kenma says, eyes narrowed and shoulders hunched as he looks between them.

Keiji and Tetsurou exchange looks. “We’ve been apartment hunting,” Keiji sighs. “We wanted to have a few options lined up before bringing up the matter to either of you because… well.” He coughs. “We thought Kenma might need a bit of a foundation to work with before getting used to the thought of that kind of change, and Koutarou… tends to get distracted by aesthetics.”

There’s a moment of long silence.

“Oh,” Koutarou says, resting his cheek blearily against Keiji’s soft sweater. “That makes a lot more sense.”

Kenma says nothing, but his shoulders drop back down as he thinks.

Keiji snorts. “Yes, it does. We wouldn’t be spending _more_ time together if we wanted to break up.” He has a point there, Koutarou realizes sheepishly. “Anyway, I’m graduating soon, and I’ve been searching for jobs… I might have something lined up for next year, an editing job. And Tetsurou…” He smiles, nodding at Tetsurou.

“Well,” Tetsurou says, with an awkward cough. “Um… you know. I had the uh… kidnapping… semester and all so my schedule is a little all over the place, but it looks like I managed to hammer out an arrangement with a hospital.”

“By hammer out, he means they begged him to take the job,” Keiji corrects, watching with a satisfied smirk as Tetsurou goes red.

“It’s more of a training period,” Tetsurou mutters. “Just like any newly graduated doctor. But it’s under one of the best surgeons in the country and… um… well, they’d pay me pretty nicely.”

Kenma just cocks an eyebrow, but his lip is starting to curl with a soft pride.

“Anyway, I’d have to take the train to the hospital in the mornings, but I’d have more fixed hours, so it’d be alright if we stayed in the neighborhood,” Tetsurou continues. “And it’d be a little bit of a mess until I take all the necessary exams in February, but…”

“Koutarou graduates soon, and he’s doing commissions already and Kenma…” Keiji stops talking, suddenly. They all pause, looking at Kenma. “I’m not certain I even know your major,” Keiji says finally. “Much less when you graduate.”

Kenma slides down in his chair. “I double majored,” he mutters. “In game design and mechanical engineering. I don’t like telling people because I don’t want them to think I’m good at stuff and ask for tutoring.”

“Ok but… I have no idea when you graduate,” Tetsurou says, looking deeply confused by this realization. Koutarou can relate. He’s always done his best to pay attention to Kenma, but it hadn’t even occurred to him to think about Kenma’s graduation.

Kenma slides down even further, avoiding their eyes. “Remember my high school graduation?” he mutters. “The one you made me go to?”

Tetsurou blinks at him, then groans, swinging his arms around like a sulking child. “Are you still mad about that?” he whines

Kenma nods, though he’s blushing. “It was a disaster, Kuro,” he mutters.

Koutarou and Keiji look at Tetsurou, but he just sets his hands on his hips and moans. “C’mon, you know that I couldn’t have known about the cake…”

“It was terrible,” Kenma says, without a shadow of forgiveness. “And… well, Tooru and Hajime needed some visa help when they got married. So I helped out.”

“That sounds very illegal,” Keiji says, a little horrified.

“Anyway, Tooru helped me… uh… kind of graduate in secret this time,” Kenma mutters, ignoring Keiji entirely.

“Aw, man, but we coulda made you a pie,” Koutarou says. Keiji still looks vaguely petrified.

“When?” Tetsurou asks, joining Keiji in his horror.

“Last year,” Kenma says.

“What?!” Tetsurou cries. “Come on, your last graduation was not _that_ bad.”

“Well, I didn’t want you to get drunk with my mother, Kuro,” Kenma mutters. “ _Again_.”

Tetsurou starts squawking in protest, but Keiji cuts him off with a sharp, “What have you been doing since then?”

Kenma slides a little further down, head barely peeking out from over the top of the table. “Working,” he says.

“Legally, right?” Tetsurou blurts. When Kenma doesn’t answer, he prods his head over the edge of the table. “ _Legally, right?_ ”

“Yeah,” Kenma says, very, very quietly.

“Something cool, right?” Koutarou shoots across the table.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Keiji asks.

“Because it’s a good job that’s hard and I didn’t want you guys to tell me I’d be good at it. Or expect me to be good at other things. Or feel weird about how I’m earning… a lot.”

“Sounds like something cool!” Koutarou says.

“How much is a lot,” Keiji says, at roughly the same time Tetsurou asks, “What are you doing?”

“We’re working on a new kind of game engine. It’s… well funded,” Kenma mutters. “And they let me work remotely.”

“That is cool! Congrats!” Koutarou cries from the other side of the table while Tetsurou and Keiji lean over Kenma and hound him with more questions and Kenma slides out of his chair to attempt to crawl away.

Koutarou wants to laugh but now that the conversation has moved into less drastic territory, his awareness of the itch is back and driving him crazy. Keiji is focused on Kenma, but somehow he still notices Koutarou’s mood plummet again as he tries to find the edge of his shoulder blade with the edge of the chair.

“That itch is really bothering you, isn’t it?” he asks, his hand coming to rest on Koutarou’s head.

Koutarou gives him a wobbly nod, feeling like he might cry again.

“Alright,” he says folding Koutarou’s shirt away. “Just tell me where and how hard.”

Koutarou points at the spot just below his shoulder and Keiji scratches gently at it with two fingers. “Good?” he asks.

Koutarou nearly whimpers with relief, nodding. “Little harder?” he pleads, looking up at Keiji. Keiji’s small smile as he complies is comforting, as though it’s telling Koutarou’s brain there’s nothing seriously wrong. “And to the left a little too.”

Keiji follows his requests quietly while Tetsurou perches over him, tugging Koutarou’s shirt away. “Still don’t see a rash,” he mutters. “But I’ll get you some cream for that, alright babe?”

The overwhelming relief mixes with the overwhelming presence of the itch that still won’t go away, and Koutarou finds himself clapping his hands over his eyes like that might shut it all out. And then he bursts into tears. Again. “Sorry,” he moans. “I’m being so lame.”

“If you’re this upset about it, it has to be bad,” Kenma says, rubbing his thigh from where he’s hiding under the table. “And gods know what you were infected with, so…”

Koutarou sniffles, and he doesn’t know if the fact that it’s probably only Keiji’s pheromones giving him even the chance to try to catch his breath is comforting or humiliating. “Ok,” he says, holding onto Kenma’s fingers to steady himself as Kenma lays his forehead against Koutarou’s knee and Keiji keeps scratching, his other hand steady at the back of Koutarou’s neck.

-X-

They spend the rest of the day sprawled out over the couch with Keiji carefully scratching his back while Tetsurou shows him pictures of the apartments they looked at, and before long, Koutarou is more interested in asking detailed questions about lighting that Tetsurou can’t answer than the itch.

It helps that Keiji’s scratching is getting good.

“Can we paint the walls?” Koutarou asks. He can already think of a few murals that would be good on the walls of one of the apartments. Something with lots of sunflowers on the brightest wall. Some little cows with chef hats over the counters in the kitchen.

“Yes,” Keiji says. “We asked, and our list only includes places where you can paint the walls.”

The image of straightlaced and serious Keiji, at an apartment visit, probably towering over some poor landlord or landlady and asking if they can paint cows with chef hats over their counter pops into his mind. He attempts to tell Tetsurou, who he’s sure will appreciate the hilarity of the situation, but he only gets as far as, “Tetsu… Tetsu I just had this thought… ‘cause I was planning…” before he bursts into giggles.

Tetsurou twists back to look at him from where he’s sitting on the floor, laptop on one knee and Kenma’s head on his other thigh. He raises his eyebrows, grinning impulsively, but Koutarou can’t manage to get anything out past his wheezing laughter.

Tetsurou blinks at him patiently with that smug grin of his, and it only makes Koutarou laugh harder, clutching at his stomach. Kenma’s eyes fixate on him, slightly entertained, and Tetsurou looks at Keiji, sharing a moment of fondness over him.

“You are just exhausted, aren’t you,” Keiji says softly, stroking his hair and smiling a smile that is, for Keiji, almost goopy.

Koutarou nods, trying desperately to breathe. He’s laughing so hard he’s crying and every time he tries to stop, the image in his head just gets more ridiculous. At this point, Keiji is the one wearing the chef’s hat.

“Should I stay home with you tomorrow?” Keiji asks. “I can make you some more soup.”

Koutarou manages to drag in enough air to shake his head dizzily.

Keiji feels his head. “Well, at least your fever is gone,” he says.

“He just needs to sleep it off,” Kenma murmurs. “I’ll be home, he can stay here.”

Keiji sighs. “Alright,” he says, and plants a kiss on Koutarou’s forehead. “You keep eating that soup we made today. I’ll know if you didn’t, and you’ll be in trouble.”

It’s an empty threat. Keiji might be scary sometimes, but Koutarou is never really in trouble with him. But he nods, once, before collapsing back into giggles.

-X-

“Keiji?” Koutarou asks quietly, nuzzling his face into Keiji’s armpit.

“Yes?” Keiji murmurs, eyes closed.

“What’s your favorite book?” Koutarou murmurs.

“The Color Purple,” Keiji answers, without a single pause.

Koutarou is quiet for a moment. He hasn’t read that. Actually, he hasn’t read much of what Keiji reads. In general, he likes books, but after a certain level the words get… floaty and Koutarou finds himself having to reread portions too many times to follow the stories. Not to mention Keiji likes books that seem to be written with the explicit goal of telling the reader anything but what’s going on, and that usually just makes Koutarou feel small and stupid. “What if we had a purple bookshelf for you in our apartment?” he tries.

Keiji’s mouth twitches into a smile. “It’s not about the color, Koutarou,” he says, his thumb scratching at the base of Koutarou’s neck.

“Oh,” Koutarou says. He should have known.

“The title is in reference to a conversation the severely abused main character has with her forcefully optimistic lover that gives her a spiritual framework that allows her to build a stronger path to recovery,” Keiji murmurs.

“Oh,” Koutarou says. Then, after a long pause, he says, “ _Oh_.”

Keiji chuckles and kisses the top of his head.

“What if I paint it my favorite color, then,” Koutarou says.

“That works,” Keiji says.

Koutarou shuffles down a little so he can press his face into Keiji’s side and breathe in his scent. Weirdly enough, he can’t smell it very well right now. Maybe his nose is more stuffed up than he thought. He squirms absently, twisting so that he can scratch his back.

“Go to sleep,” Keiji says, sharply. “You’ll feel better in the morning.”

“Maybe I’m sleeping already,” Koutarou huffs.

“Koutarou.”

“Ok, ok,” Koutarou murmurs, but when he tries he can’t settle down. It’s far too bright to sleep. He pulls the curtain over the window.

“ _Koutarou,_ ” Keiji hisses, almost opening his eyes.

“Alright alright,” Koutarou whines.

Kenma groans and pulls his pillow over his head.

“I just wanted to block out the moonlight,” Koutarou mumbles, after a while, though he’s finally halfway asleep.

“Nice try, Koutarou,” Keiji murmurs, rolling over to hug him a little closer. “It’s a new moon.”

But Koutarou is already snoring softly.

-X-

He wakes to a sense of intense betrayal.

First of all, Kenma is prodding at him. “Are you alive?” he asks. “I’ve never seen you sleep past noon.”

Second of all, Koutarou does _not_ feel better. Or maybe he does, but the light streaming into the room feels like knives in his eyes and he hasn’t even opened them yet. He groans and pulls the covers up over his head. “Noooo,” he whines. “So much _liiiight_.”

“Come on,” Kenma says. “That’s how _I_ say good morning.”

“Turn it offfffffff,” Koutarou moans.

“The sun?”

“Yeeeeeeesssss.”

Kenma sighs, but Koutarou hears him pull the curtains closed and the world gets a little less painful. “Come on, I’ll make you breakfast.”

Koutarou is quiet for a moment, then sits up, remaining wrapped in the blanket well enough that it flops over his eyes like a villain’s cloak. “What kind of breakfast,” he says.

Kenma scowls at him. “All the kinds,” he says. “I even went _shopping_. Before you woke up.”

Koutarou squints back. His eyes hurt so much that everything seems blurry. “You are a dream Kenma,” he decides, finally. “And I am going back to sleep. Since I am already sleeping.” He rolls back onto his stomach, clenching the blanket firmly over his head.

“No,” Kenma says, grabbing him around the waist and pulling him back and out of the bed. “I could hear your stomach growling in your sleep and you are going to eat breakfast.”

“Noooooo,” Koutarou whines, as Kenma throws him over his shoulder, wrapping him into the blanket to avoid Koutarou’s flapping hands as he tries to bat Kenma away. Kenma has no mercy, stomping down the stairs with him in tow until they’re in the kitchen, Koutarou a very disgruntled, blinking blanket sausage and Kenma a disgruntled, frazzled and frustrated _something_ as he starts cooking.

“I want orange juice,” Koutarou says, reaching back to scratch at his back. His hands and arms get caught on the blanket still halfway over his head and wrapped around his shoulders and he finds himself contorted into a pose that tugs on something under his armpit that immediately cramps.

He lets out an odd _hgrk_ sort of noise and slides right off his chair, which doesn’t help the cramp much.

He groans and rolls onto all fours. “I wanna go back to beeeed,” he mutters.

Kenma sighs, squatting down in front of him. “Yesterday it seemed like you were feeling better.”

“I do feel better,” Koutarou says petulantly. “It’s just my back hurts and the light hates me.”

“At least eat something,” Kenma says. “I bought food.”

Koutarou peers up at him. Kenma does really, really hate going shopping for food, so Koutarou probably owes him a little effort in return. And he is _starving_. “Pull the curtains in?” he says, trying to sulk a little less.

Kenma sighs but he gets up and pulls the curtains in the living room shut. It helps some, but Koutarou still leaves the blanket on his head.

“I want juice,” Koutarou mutters, again.

Amazingly, Kenma doesn’t protest, just opens up the fridge, gets a glass, and pours Koutarou some juice. Maybe he really is a fake Kenma.

Koutarou sighs and tries to pick up the glass. Or at least, he goes to do it and then realizes he’s not entirely sure how he’s supposed to move his fingers to do so. It had been so automatic before, but now it’s like he’s forgotten how to have hands.

Kenma watches him closely, like he’s contemplating whether to worry or just observe.

“Ah,” Koutarou says, waking up enough to remember how to hold a glass. He picks it up and it promptly smashes in his hand.

Kenma stares at him. “Well,” he says, as Koutarou watches the orange juice drip from his hand. “I’m glad I gave you plastic.”

-X-

“Kuro,” Kenma sighs, but his voice is far too soft to permeate even the surface of the chaos that Kuroo Tetsurou clearly has whirling in his brain right now. It’s not even enough to permeate the small fraction that’s made it into the real world.

Keiji is checking his hands for cuts. He’d seemed more worried earlier, before Tetsurou had gotten home, Hajime in a chokehold, clearly more than stressed enough for all four of them, plus about fifteen other people.

“Oh my gods,” he’s crying. “Fevers can cause brain damage, right? Right? _That’s a thing that happens_.”

“He does not have brain damage,” Hajime sighs, remarkably unruffled for someone who is trapped under the armpit of a frantic madman.

Though to be fair, the last person to have a breakdown in this house had been Hajime. He’s probably used to the idea.

“HOW CAN YOU KNOW?!”  Tetsurou cries.

“I don’t feel brain damage-y!” Koutarou chirps. Though to be fair, he doesn’t know what brain damage-y feels like, but now that Keiji has put a few blankets over the windows and it’s dark inside, his eyes don’t feel like coals that he wants to pry out of his head and he’s actually feeling pretty great. Certainly a lot better than how Tooru looked when he was feeling brain damage-y.

“Sensitivity to light and muscle spasms are signs of… of…” Tetsurou wheezes. “Oh my gods, Hajime, if anything happens to Kou I’m gonna die.”

Keiji sighs and reaches over to pinch his ear, pulling him down far enough to be able to look down at him with a scolding look. “You were more together than this when Kenma was actually dead.”

“ _I only had 30 seconds, the reality hadn’t sunk in!_ ” Tetsurou shouts at him. Keiji’s eyes narrow. Koutarou glances between them. Keiji really doesn’t like being yelled at, and Koutarou is starting to worry that Keiji might snap at Tetsurou, starting who knows how much more chaos. Keiji seems to be firmly rooted in the knowledge that Tetsurou is panicking. He takes a deep breath and roots himself against that panic. “Tetsurou,” he says, steely but still calm. “Please try to calm down.”

“Kuro,” Kenma says, but it goes unnoticed again.

“Kenma is…” Koutarou tries, because if anyone knows what to say to Tetsurou it’s probably Kenma, but before he can finish, Hajime frees himself from Tetsurou’s grasp and pulls up a chair in front of Koutarou. Koutarou trails off, blinking at him.

“Ignoring the fact that, _like Kuroo should know_ ,” Hajime says, sharply, glaring at Tetsurou, “you shouldn’t have brain damage from a fever under 42 degrees, nor should it come before organ failure, bruising of the face…” He trails off with a sigh. “Would you describe what happened as a spasm?”

“He said he forgot how hands worked,” Tetsurou says breathlessly, but hearing actual facts seems to be helping. Keiji gives him a sharp tug on the ear, then cups the back of his neck firmly.

“Um,” Kenma tries, again, though at this point it seems like he’s lost interest in knuckling his way into this conversation and is instead picking at something on his shoe.

Koutarou tries to point him out anyway, but Hajime’s question is now also waiting for attention and Koutarou isn’t sure about who has the right of way. He flounders for a moment, then stammers a quick, “Uh… no, not a spasm it just kinda exploded, but…” He looks at Kenma desperately. Kenma looks back wearily, as if to say, _yeah, used to it._ “Guys, I think Kenma…”

“I think Kenma has a grip measure,” Hajime finishes, crossing his arms. “Which is not a bad idea.”

Instead of putting together the necessary words to scold Tetsurou for ignoring him, Kenma just drops the measure into Koutarou’s lap while keeping his eyes locked on Tetsurou’s, a faint promise of revenge simmering in the back of his expression. Tetsurou looks back sheepishly. “Oh,” he says.

Koutarou picks up the measure and holds it carefully in his palm. It takes him a moment to curl his fingers right around it and squeeze. Hajime leans forward and nods. “400 psi.”

“That’s… like…” Tetsurou says slowly, as though the idea of being able to describe whatever is going on with Koutarou in numbers is finally piercing a hole into the panic cloud in his brain. “About 4 times what a human should be able to do.”

“He also complained about the moonlight last night,” Kenma mutters. “Even though there wasn’t any, and this morning he was sensitive to light.”

“Wait,” Koutarou says, something building up in his chest. “You guys said the scary mask guy said his powers should have killed me as a human.”

“Yes,” Kenma says.

“Oh,” Tetsurou says, collapsing into the nearest chair, long limbs tumbling like a game of pick up sticks into a newborn deer-like pile.

“I HAVE POWERS?!” Koutarou cries.

“Well, you don’t have brain damage,” Hajime says, looking at Tetsurou with a vaguely disapproving look.

Koutarou lets out a whooping screech and picks Keiji up into a hug. Kenma lets out a choked noise, starting as if to stop him. Keiji flinches, but then relaxes into an annoyed sigh. “Koutarou,” he says. “Be careful. We don’t actually know what your powers are.”

“Sorry,” Koutarou says, putting Keiji back down quickly.

Keiji adjusts his sweater. “No harm done. It seems this new strength is restricted to your hands.”

Koutarou nods, pushing up his own shirt to try to scratch at the bottom of his shoulder.

Tetsurou frowns. “Back still bothering you?” he asks.

Koutarou looks back at him. “Uh… it’s not so bad,” he tries. “Cramped a little earlier, though.”

Tetsurou pulls up his shirt and prods under his armpit with his thumb. “Looks like you’re getting some swelling. Is it symmetrical?”

“Yeah, but I can reach that side,” Koutarou says miserably. He’d dislocated one shoulder a few years back and now his shoulders are noticeably varied in flexibility.

Tetsurou prods at that side too. “Yeah,” he says. “Weird place to have swelling.”

“Maybe I’m growing gills,” Koutarou breathes, staring ahead as he imagines the advantages of being able to breathe underwater.

Tetsurou chuckles. “Maybe,” he says.

“Oh man!” Koutarou chirps. “I could like… um. Be a lifeguard!”

“Dream big, babe,” Tetsurou laughs. He breathes out slowly. “Ok,” he whispers, mostly to himself, rubbing his hands on his thighs. “Ok. New powers we can deal with.” He turns back to Hajime. “Sorry I put you in a chokehold.”

Hajime scowls at him. “I’ll live.”

“How’s Tooru?” Tetsurou says, as though he’d like to forget any of this happened. “Did we wear him out too much in our little field trip?”

“Nah,” Hajime says, eying Keiji for some reason. “He slept for about a day, but I think he had fun, that lunatic.”

Keiji blushes. Koutarou frowns, but he decides not to ask. He doesn’t like pushing Keiji to do things faster than he likes.

“Anyway, tonight is Stargate: Atlantis night, so I gotta get home and make some popcorn,” Hajime says. He pats Tetsurou on the shoulder. “Gods know I know the urge to forget all of med school any time your boyfriend has troubles, but next time at least _try_ to think before snatching me out of class and nearly strangling me, alright?”

“Gotcha,” Tetsurou replies, looking a little put out. He looks back at Koutarou, looking tired suddenly.

Koutarou summons up his dorkiest grin and reaches up to ruffle his hair. Keiji flinches, reminding Koutarou just in time to be gentle. “We’re _all_ mutants together now!”

“Yeah,” Tetsurou says, a little off, but after a moment of looking a little queasy, he grins. “Though come on, you’re behind. A strong grip and sensitive eyes? Kenma can fly!”

Koutarou squawks indignantly. “Hey! I just started! I’m probably gonna grow gills and it’ll be awesome!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tetsurou sneers, and Kenma sighs and moves aside before Koutarou can playfully tackle Tetsurou onto the bit of sofa he was just sitting on.

“Don’t make fun of him,” Keiji says. “He might crush your wrist by accident. Though I suppose there’s not much else he can do. And you could fend him off with a flashli-”

“ _You_ get back here too, you _asshole,_ ” Koutarou laughs, flinging out a leg as Keiji leaps over the back of the sofa to avoid getting trapped between Koutarou’s thighs while Koutarou holds Tetsurou in the crook of his elbow and uses his other fist to muss up his already tragic hair even more.

He doesn’t stay far enough, though, because once Tetsurou’s hair is thoroughly mussed, Koutarou manages to free up one arm well enough to sit up, dragging Tetsurou with him, and grab Keiji around the waist, drawing him into the pile and softly nibbling on his ear while he tries not to laugh.

Tetsurou worms his way out of Koutarou’s grip, and there’s something about how quiet he is suddenly that has Koutarou looking up at him. “You alright, Tetsu?” he asks.

Tetsurou gives him a shaky smile. “Sure,” he says. “Close enough.”

Koutarou cocks his head at that, but he lets it go, especially when Tetsurou laughs and tackles him again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week: If I run out of Orajel I may die before I post but assuming I find the other 5000 boxes of Orajel I've stashed around my room and manage to post a chapter, there will be hair braiding in it. Also Kuroo will have a small existential crisis but IN A WARM HUG.
> 
> Just an FYI having monster teeth is great for fights but hell when they are growing. 7/10, would recommend to those not faint of heart. Also please ignore me talking about my teeth I'm in a lot of pain.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hey Kenma,” Koutarou says, softly this time, but with a touch of confusion, looking past the fluttering curtain and out the window.
> 
> “Hm?” Kenma asks.
> 
> “My eyes are kinda watery from the sun but uh… pretty sure that’s our boyfriend wandering around in circles in the backyard.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone please save Kenma from all these conversations people keep starting with him.
> 
> (Look it's Wednesday already here.)

Keiji’s face as he stares at his breakfast when Kenma gets downstairs is so deeply horrified that for a moment, Kenma isn’t sure if it’s the kind he’s supposed to react to with comfort or the kind he’s supposed to react to by poking fun at it.

It’s important to know the difference. While there’s a gentleness that Keiji still needs when he loses his footing, the fact is that Keiji spent much of his childhood kidnapped and abused, and now he holds on to anything he shares with his real parents with an almost childish, but nonetheless iron grip. That includes his mother’s dry, almost mean sense of humor.

Being cruel to Keiji during a panic attack is like kicking a half drowned puppy. Attempting to treat Keiji as though he is too fragile to make snide jokes at any other time is a good way to get an elbow to the face.

However, Keiji’s panic attacks are sloppy, ugly affairs, and right now he’s staring at Kenma with a look that’s explicitly deadened for dramatic effect.

“You look dead inside,” Kenma informs him, rather than taking a certain stand.

“He woke me up at four,” Keiji says, tonelessly.

Kenma stares at him. _Oh,_ he thinks. He can’t even think of a snide joke.

“He said that way we could go jogging before the sun gets bright,” Keiji continues, like his soul is drifting into the ether.

“Did you go,” Kenma whispers, terrified to hear the answer.

“Of course I did,” Keiji says. “I love him so much.”

Kenma lays his hand on Keiji’s cheek like a cat touching its paw to its owner’s face. “I’m so sorry.”

“He kept asking if I minded and I said no,” Keiji says. “I just wanted to make sure he stayed energetic since he’s been a little unsteady since the fever, but now if I go back to bed he might figure realize I was lying and feel guilty.”

Kenma knows what he has to do, though it pains him. “I’ll keep him distracted,” he says.

“He’s _so_ energetic. He’s been cooped up for days and now he’s back on his feet…” Keiji warns. “It’s delightful, much like a colorful strobe light at a carnival. But I suppose if you kept him busy I could sneak up while he’s in the shower.”

“I can do this,” Kenma assures him. “Besides, I owe you for the time I stole your Doritos.”

“You did _what_ ,” Keiji says, dropping the joke to glare down at Kenma for real.

“Nothing,” Kenma says. “Go sleep, before Koutarou sees.”

Keiji narrows his eyes at Kenma, but he doesn’t have the time to murder Kenma now. He sighs as he comes to that conclusions as well. Time is of the essence. He slips from his chair and to the door, looking around the corner and tiptoeing up the stairs quickly when he’s assured the coast is clear.

Koutarou comes crashing down the stairs soon after, hair still wet and a towel around his shoulders. “Did someone turn off the heat? It’s freezing,” he says, shaking himself. He certainly is back to his full volume, Kenma notes with a cringe.

“It’s still August, we’re not turning on the heat yet,” Kenma sighs. He feels Koutarou’s forehead as best he can with his gloves. He needs a good way to keep Koutarou… mostly stationary.

“My fever’s not back,” Koutarou says through an apple he’d procured from nowhere and stuffed in his face. The next joyous addition is unintelligible.

Kenma sighs, then has a stroke of genius. “Stay here,” he says.

Koutarou tilts his head.

“Stay,” Kenma says, severely. “I’ll be right back.”

Koutarou nods, eyes wide and trusting.

Kenma pads up the stairs, slipping into the room. Keiji is already snoring softly, out like a light. Kenma pauses, temptation lingering in the air for a moment. He gives Keiji’s foot an experimental prod. Keiji doesn’t move, dead to the world.

Kenma smirks and grabs a sharpie and scrawls a quick “DICK :)” on the exposed foot.

He wonders if Keiji will even notice.

He then turns back and grabs what he meant to grab and trots back down. Koutarou looks up at him guiltily. “I didn’t know if I was allowed to finish eating my apple or not but I was really hungry so I did anyway,” he says.

Kenma frowns. _Why wouldn’t he be allowed to eat his apple?_ He groans. “I just meant stay in the kitchen,” he says, after a few beats of trying to think through Koutarou’s unique brand of literal interpretation.

“Ohhh,” Koutarou says, then lights up. “I did that!”

“Anyway,” Kenma sighs, rolling his eyes. “These are Tetsurou’s gloves but they should fit you.”

“Hm?” Koutarou asks, taking the gloves carefully, one eyebrow quirked with excited curiosity.

“I’m gonna let you braid my hair today,” Kenma says.

Koutarou nearly falls of his chair with excitement, blowing Kenma’s eardrums out with the ensuing jumble of excited exclamations.

-X-

“You know, it’s not so bad now that I’m getting used to it,” Koutarou says.

It’s the first thing he’s said in at least two hours that Kenma’s registered, which probably means he’d stopped talking for a while. Kenma had zoned out somewhere around the point where Koutarou had gone on a really long tirade about Atlantis, chattering away happily while trying his best to scratch his own back and play with Kenma’s hair at once.

Kenma looks up from his tablet. “What isn’t?”

“Sunlight,” Koutarou says.

The curtain is still pulled over the window, but they’d taken down the blankets Keiji had put up earlier, and the window is open, letting the late summer air flutter into the room.

“Mmm,” Kenma says. He’s not particularly pro-bright lights either, but with the curtains it is comfortable.

Koutarou gently tugs on Kenma’s hair, pulling it into another braid. There must be at least twenty braids, each more complicated than the last. Koutarou’s been at it all morning. He’s always liked long hair, and Kenma knows that ever since his hair reached his shoulders, Koutarou’s been itching to play with it.

He would have indulged him earlier, but years of being the shorter half of a gay relationship, having long hair, being dangerous to touch _and_ being averse to attention and humiliation all at once have made Kenma… wary. Having to explain, with limited verbal versatility, to a group of very eager girls that your hair is long mostly so you can focus and _no, Nanami, you cannot put pigtails in it_ was precisely horrifying enough without knowing that the result of failure was sending someone to the hospital.

It had helped, of course, that people were usually scared of Tetsurou. Kenma had used “my boyfriend will get jealous,” as an excuse way more than he’d ever like to admit to Tetsurou.

But as nervous and silly as braids or elaborate hairstyles make him feel now, it’s nice sitting here with Koutarou doing his thing. Koutarou doesn’t think of him as fragile or delicate or small. He just likes making art out of anything he can make art out of.

“Hey Kenma,” Koutarou says, softly this time, but with a touch of confusion, looking past the fluttering curtain and out the window.

“Hm?” Kenma asks.

“My eyes are kinda watery from the sun but uh… pretty sure that’s our boyfriend wandering around in circles in the backyard.”

Kenma frowns and leans over to pull away the curtain. Tetsurou is, indeed, nervously pacing in circles outside. “So it is,” he says. “And I think he’s crying.”

Koutarou nudges Kenma up and they both stand up to open the door. Koutarou winces at the sunlight, so Kenma only cracks the door open. “Kuro,” he says. “Why are you crying outside?”

“Um,” Tetsurou says, looking down at the paper he has clutched in his hand. “I’m having an existential crisis.”

“Would you like to have your existential crisis inside?” Kenma says, carefully.

“In a big warm hug?” Koutarou adds, less carefully, as he smacks his head on the doorframe trying to stick his head out while his hand is over his eyes. Kenma just stares at the sky with a dull acceptance.

-X-

In the end, Kenma ends up with Tetsurou in his arms, leaning against the couch, while Koutarou sits cross-legged above him, combing the braids out, like he’d somehow suspected that Kenma wouldn’t like them to be there when he’s comforting Tetsurou, before Kenma had even fully understood what it was that bothered him about it.

Koutarou has always made it easier to be confused by his own feelings. Sometimes Kenma wonders whether he would have been willing to stay anywhere near Tetsurou at all in the early years if Koutarou hadn’t been around to sit with Kenma through his confusing period of grief and fear after putting Tetsurou in the hospital with their first kiss.

“So why are you crying in our backyard?” Kenma sighs, as Tetsurou wipes his nose in Kenma’s thigh.

“This is my last paper to submit to finalize my position,” Tetsurou croaks, waving the offending paper in the air. “And then I’m gonna be a doctor.”

“Good,” Kenma says, gently mussing up Tetsurou’s hair even more than usual, lock by lock.

“What if I can’t handle it?”  Tetsurou croaks. “I mean I was sure I could handle it in like… high school, when I was… you know, top of my class and… captain of the team and… I mean… I mean, I handled shit, you know?”

“You’re still top of your class,” Koutarou says brightly.

Kenma chews through the last few weeks of memories, trying to get a handle on Tetsurou’s mood lately. Of course, there’s been the Tooru thing. And the Koutarou meltdown. And he’s been working more, probably to get things into order for graduating and moving into a new apartment. But also, probably, for some control over the situation.

“Yeah, but,” Tetsurou says, with a pathetic little sniffle. “I mean. Getting a 97% on a test is one thing. What if that 3% is something that kills someone? What if…”

“What if you react like you did last night?” Kenma says.

Tetsurou goes quiet, then lets out a broken, “Uh-huh,” and starts crying even harder.

Kenma tries not to smile, stroking his hands through Tetsurou’s hair. “Tetsurou,” he says. “You’re not going to be in love with your patients. And you’re not going to have anything quite as crazy going on as some of the things that have been happening around here.”

“Yeah, aren’t you gonna be a general surgeon? I bet they don’t get a lot of like… possession cases.” Koutarou chews on his lip for a second. “Or gills.”

He says it with such force that Kenma is almost drawn off topic to ask why he’s so sure about the gills. It’s no wonder Tetsurou is always getting drawn into Koutarou’s silly jokes. He shakes his head to focus. “Might I add that when I died you started doing CPR immediately,” he offers. “The only time you panic is when you don’t know what to do.”

“Oh, boy, and you should see my brain when something like that happens,” Koutarou says. His whole body droops. “Actually you probably have because I can never stop yelling when it happens.”

“Or mine,” Kenma adds. “But I just freeze.”

“Well…” Tetsurou sniffles.

“You did panic last night,” Kenma says. “And you forgot your training. But you went with your hypothesis and found an expert on the subject. Which _is_ what you’re supposed to do, and it worked out, right?”

“Yeah,” Tetsurou manages.

“You will be a wonderful doctor,” Kenma says. “I promise.”

“But you probably can’t have affairs with your patients,” Koutarou says. “Sorry.”

Kenma snorts. Keiji might be rubbing off on Koutarou.

“And here I was,” Tetsurou says, laughing wetly, “planning to be the most scandalous doctor in town.”

“You’ll just have to make do with your three boyfriends,” Kenma says, smiling.

“Did I miss an opportunity to make Tetsurou cry?” Keiji voice says from the kitchen, followed shortly by Keiji, padding into the room a yawn and a cookie.

“Did you go back to bed?” Koutarou laughs.

Keiji does his best to stare him down with a grueling poker face. “No. I loved getting up at four with you to jog and I was not at all exhausted afterwards,” he drones.

“Oh, babe,” Tetsurou says, twisting around to rub Koutarou’s thigh. “That’s too much.”

“I thought it was nice,” Koutarou declares, pounding a fist on his knee. “You just have to go to bed early enough and you can wake up before dawn any time. It’s _nice_.”

“Of course, Koutarou,” Keiji says, and then moves on to take Tetsurou into consideration. “What’s the crisis?” He gives Tetsurou a probing poke in the side with a toe, as though that will give him answers.

“Tetsurou is nervous about his new job,” Kenma says, while Tetsurou gives Keiji’s foot a lazy tug, as though hoping to unbalance him without putting any effort into it at all.

“Ah,” Keiji says. He spends a moment balancing on one foot and sizing up the situation, then decides the best course of action for comforting Tetsurou is to sit directly on his chest and continue nibbling at his cookie.“You’ll be an alright doctor.”

“Just alright?” Tetsurou wheezes.

“Decidedly alright,” Keiji amends.

-X-

“Ow ow _ow_ ,” Koutarou whines.

Kenma looks up from his game to make sure it’s not serious pain that has Koutarou whining, but his nose is scrunching in the way it does when he’s playing things up for attention. Tetsurou and Keiji see it too, but Tetsurou sighs and pulls up a chair nonetheless.

“Another cramp?” Keiji asks, while Tetsurou folds up Koutarou’s shirt.

“Yeah, and it’s _really_ itchy.”

Tetsurou goes through his prodding, long fingers spreading over Koutarou’s back. “Is it sore to the touch?”

“Not really,” Koutarou mutters. “Just when I move.” He twists awkwardly, nearly elbowing Tetsurou in the face. “And it makes it really hard to scratch, ‘cause it pulls on all the wrong muscles!”

“Just tell me where,” Keiji sighs, leaning forward to scratch for him. “Has the swelling gone down any?”

“No, it’s… hm,” Tetsurou says. “I’m pretty sure he’s right, he’s growing _something_.”

“Gills?” Koutarou says eagerly.

“Why gills?” Keiji says, straightening up with a vaguely tired look. His eyes betray the fact that he’s interested, though, if only because he’s hopelessly fascinated and delighted by most of the things that spill out of Koutarou’s mouth.

“I don’t know, I just thought of them and I think they’d be cool,” Koutarou says with a pout.

“Sorry, Kou,” Tetsurou says. “I don’t think it’s gills. Feels more like bone.”

“Horns!” Koutarou says, his eyes lighting up. Then he collapses back on himself. “Wait no, those are just for your head.” He’s quiet for a moment, before brightening again. “ _Arm horns_.”

Keiji sinks his head into his hand, and it is impossible to tell if he’s sighing or laughing.

“I think you’ve just got to sit tight and find out,” Tetsurou says, patting Koutarou’s shoulder.

“My last final is tomorrow, though,” Koutarou says. “And I studied!”

Keiji and Tetsurou exchange looks. “Fine,” Keiji says, after a moment, crossing his arms. He and Tetsurou look like the fathers of a child that got caught out after curfew at the moment. The idea of Keiji and Tetsurou being parents, just the two of them, is hilarious and horrifying at once. It feels like the premise of a bad lifetime drama where both of them are at once the dramatic housewife and detached working husband. “But be careful. We still don’t know anything about your powers, so keep to yourself and come back straight after.”

“Fiiiine,” Koutarou whines, then nails Keiji with his best puppy dog eyes. “Scratch the other side, please?”

Keiji doesn’t even seem to notice his body complying anymore.

-X-

As much as Kenma loves his boyfriends, he’s more than relieved when they’re _all_ gone for once. Their room is blissfully quiet and Kenma can finally eat cheesy chips with sour cream and a spoon without the vague, silent judgement of everyone: Tetsurou because he doesn’t think Kenma should be eating chips with a spoon, Koutarou because he thinks Kenma should eat real food more often, and Keiji because Kenma has definitely stolen these chips from him.

He works until he gets a text from Keiji. **_Koutarou made it through his exam without disasters, wants ice cream again. Want anything from the shop?_**

Kenma texts back a quick **_pie_ ** and then trots downstairs to look for something to drink.

Suga is in the kitchen with a backpack and a grappling hook, absently reading the newspaper as he shoves the hook into the front pocket.

Kenma stares at him. “What are you doing?” he asks.

“Noya is having troubles wooing his crush,” Suga says, like this is normal. “So I’m going to break into their house, find out everything about them, and then hook them up.”

Kenma just stares harder. “Do you need to talk about… anything?” he asks.

“Nope,” Suga says brightly, as delightful as ever.

“Are you sure, because…”

“I’m fine!” Suga laughs. When Kenma doesn’t stop staring, he lays his hands gently on his shoulders. “Listen, Kenma. Noya’s idea of seduction is leaving an ice sculpture, running and hiding and staring this guy down until he takes the sculpture. He’s been doing that every Friday for months now. Drastic measures are needed.”

The eerie part is how reasonable it sounds coming from Suga’s mouth. “This seems a little too drastic,” Kenma tries.

“Iiii don’t know, it’s a pretty bad strategy I’ve got to fix,” Suga says, with a gentle chuckle.

“Yeah but your strategy is… kind of illegal,” Kenma says, careful not to inch any further into the very subtly judgemental stare he’s been wearing the whole time.

“Just a little.”

“You’re breaking into someone’s house, that’s _very_ illegal,” Kenma says. Clearly he is not going to get anywhere without taking a clear stance, even if it gets Suga to turn against him.

“Just a _little_ ,” Suga repeats, his smile just a hair sharper.

“So maybe kind of… too drastic,” Kenma counters, eyes narrowing a fraction of a centimeter.

“Not that drastic,” Suga says, sweet in a way that’s decidedly terse.

“Seems a little much.”

Tobio clears his throat, clearly oblivious to the slow mounting tension in the kitchen, possibly because neither half of the offending parties has raised their voice or even particularly changed their demeanor in this steadily building showdown. “Sugawara-san,” he says. “I have a question about… um… relationships.”

“Well!” Suga says happily, and he looms in his own, fairly short, fairly cheerful way. Kenma steels himself and makes the ultimate sacrifice, before Tobio, innocent and unsuspecting Tobio, can land himself in Suga’s clearly maniacal clutches.

“What do you want to know?” he says. “Suga had… something to do.”

“That I did,” Suga says, smile unrelenting and unchanged and still whispering, somehow, that Kenma has made a powerful enemy today.

“Well,” Tobio says, and Suga’s backpack clanks awkwardly as he hauls it out of the kitchen. Kenma can only hope that he’s not about to resort to actual kidnapping or something. Tobio watches him go, as though even he can tell something is off. “Um.”

Kenma moves aside so Tobio has room beside him.

He pulls up a chair next to Kenma and sits, frowning with his whole body. “It’s about Shoyo,” he says, who is the human embodiment of the smile Tobio’s being is wholeheartedly avoiding.

“Are you… still not dating?” Kenma asks, vaguely horrified.

“No,” Tobio grumbles.

“Does he at least know you like him?” Kenma asks.

“No,” Tobio says, curling even further in on his frustration.

“Tobio, you’ve confessed… how many times now?”

“Five in the past two years,” Tobio mutters. “I did it just like in the mangas, though.”

 _Oh no_. “Have you been reading shoujo manga to figure out how to confess?” Kenma sighs.

“Yes,” Tobio says.

Kenma sighs. “Tobio… those are… usually not very plausible situations.”

“I know,” Tobio says, in a way that indicates he’s tried far too hard to set up a few of those situations and it has not gone well.

“I think… maybe… you should just keep it simple,” Kenma says. “And maybe… just talk to Shoyo about your feelings.”

“I am… not good with that sort of thing,” Tobio huffs. “How did you and Kuroo-san get together?”

Kenma is quiet for a moment. “I wrote a letter,” he says, finally.

Tobio brightens, which Kenma finds vaguely depressing. Is he really so bad at communicating his feelings that Kageyama Tobio is encouraged by the thought that he was the one to confess? “How long was it? How many versions did you write? Did it include the word love or did you say I love you later?”

“Twelve pages long,” Kenma manages, before his throat shuts down with embarrassment and he has to pretend to be very invested in doing dishes.

Tobio’s eyebrows bounce up under the blue glasses he has to wear at all times, and Kenma can only imagine his eyes are wide. He continues bombarding Kenma with questions that Kenma suddenly doesn’t have the ability to answer.

It had been twelve pages or disorganized, confused mush. Some of it had been sweet and nostalgic because Kenma had loved Tetsurou with a fiery passion since they were eight, and some of it had been jealous and angry, because that was the year Tetsurou had gotten attractive much faster than he’d grown up enough to realize that being attractive meant that people were usually flirting with him.

He had written only one version, because by the time he’d gotten it all down on paper there was no way he had the capacity to make it neat and coherent. Or even hide it in Tetsurou’s locker, like he’d meant to. He’d shoved all 12 pages of it into Tetsurou’s lap and then crammed his head under a pillow so he didn’t have to see Tetsurou’s face while he read it.

And it had contained the word “love” quite a few times. Kenma was not good enough at words to avoid specific ones that had more weight for some reason until the timing was right. The only reason he didn’t say “I love you” more often was that there was no sense putting in the effort to say, with his mouth, what they both knew was always true.

There was no way Kenma is going to manage to say these things to Tobio, though, no matter how many eager questions he asks.

“Just write a letter,” he mumbles, after regaining some verbal ability. “And try not to call him a dumbass.”

“But he is a dumbass,” Tobio says, seeming bewildered by the request.

Kenma sighs. “But… just… in the letter,” he says.

“Alright,” Tobio says.

He’s going to mess up yet another confession. Kenma is tempted to call back Suga and let him at it, but then he remembers the size of the grappling hook and the slightly crazed look in his eye and decides against it.

“This is our last year in high school,” Tobio says, quietly.

Kenma sighs out a long breath. He’d been quite firmly situated in his relationship with Tetsurou when they’d graduated, but it had still made him nervous. The year between them hadn’t helped. What had helped, mostly, was that Tetsurou was twice as nervous as he was.

“You’re going to college together, right?” Kenma says. “Staying on the same team?”

Tobio nods.

“You know…” Kenma says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Maybe don’t write a letter. Just… ask him out. And tell him it’s a date, you know how he is.”

“Isn’t that too obvious?” Tobio says. “Won’t it seem desperate?”

“Tobio,” Kenma sighs. “He didn’t notice five confessions. I don’t think you have much choice other than too obvious.”

“Oh,” Tobio says. “That’s true.”

He seems… genuinely surprised by the thought. Kenma tries not to cry as he goes to get a glass of juice he didn’t even want from the fridge to avoid throttling Tobio and his utter uselessness at relationships.

“Well, thank you, Kenma,” Tobio says, and Kenma gives up on finding a glass in favor of just chugging the juice from the bottle until Tobio is gone. Which may not have been his finest decision, because once Tobio is gone, he feels strangely queasy.

Keiji and Koutarou come back little while later. Koutarou is pouting and rubbing at his back like it hurts drastically, but Keiji is ignoring him, so it can’t be bad. “He’s just gunning for your pie,” Keiji sighs when they sit down at the table, sliding a carryout box into Kenma’s hands, which have been outstretched and twitching since he heard the word _pie_.

“I am not!” Koutarou protests.

“And if he eats any more sweets he will puke,” Keiji sighs, giving Koutarou a fondly tired look.

“My back really is cramping!” Koutarou protests.

“Turn around and let me look,” Keiji says, and Koutarou does so, sitting into Keiji’s lap so that Keiji is forced to bend back to get a good look, scowling slightly. He frowns, running his fingers along Koutarou’s back.

Suddenly, his eyes glimmer with that sort of hidden joy Keiji very rarely shows. “Koutarou,” he says, sounding as though he is trying very hard not to be excited but clearly is. “I don’t think you’re growing gills.”

“Aw man,” Koutarou says, distractedly. Kenma lets him have a bite of the pie he’s been eying so ferociously. Koutarou licks it off the fork and continues talking around it. “I was getting really into the thought of it, too. I’m a really good swimmer and everything.”

“You are growing something fluffy,”  Keiji says, like he might just cry with eagerness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week: Yachi finally connects the dots. Akaashi makes multiple bad decisions, though one is not entirely his fault, but he will nonetheless be teased by Kuroo until he dies. RIP Akaashi.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yachi burrows her way under Koutarou’s arm, poking at the fluff there. “Feathers!”she cries. “They feel like down feathers!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, half asleep, copying the chapter into Ao3: wait is today Tuesday.
> 
> I'm avoiding responsibilities by posting this. Yay.

If there are two things Akaashi Keiji loves, they are Bokuto Koutarou and soft things. There’s a significant overlap between the two, though Koutarou often spikes his hair and it’s only his stomach that’s more on the squishier side of things, the rest of him firmly muscle.

Now though, there’s a patch of fluff under each of his shoulderblades, and Keiji is utterly enamored.

Tetsurou does his own inspection when he gets home, carefully prodding out the small ridges forming along Koutarou’s back, slapping Keiji’s fascinated fingers away. At this point, Keiji isn’t even sure whether he’s poking at the fluff just to revel in the fact that his boyfriend is growing soft, downy patches, or just to annoy Tetsurou.

“I swear, Keiji, I’m going to tie you down,” Tetsurou snaps, glaring at him.

Keiji sits back and lets Tetsurou get back into trying to feel out what’s going on with Koutarou’s back. He waits until Tetsurou is thoroughly distracted and then, very slowly and quietly perches behind him so he can slide one finger, as slowly as possible, past Tetsurou’s cheek to poke at the soft patch under Koutarou’s arm.

Tetsurou sighs. “Really?”

Keiji makes eye contact, wriggling his finger to say _Try to stop me_. Koutarou shivers. “Keijiiiii that tickles,” he whines, dancing away.

Kenma laughs under his breath from where he’s sitting on the back of the sofa.

Tetsurou sighs. “I don’t know what you’re growing, but I’m pretty sure it’s bony,” he says. “Under the fluff it feels like ridges.”

“Extra fluffy hugging arms!” Koutarou cries, bounding into a triumphant stance.

“Well,” Tetsurou sighs. “I think we’ve proven nothing is impossible here. But sheesh, if you’re growing a whole new set of limbs, you should take it easy. And uh…” He stops short, one hand in his hair, murmuring something about bone marrow and osteoblasts and calcium, looking more and more frazzled as he thinks through it. “I’ll cook for you,” he says finally.

“I doubt you’re growing extra limbs this far into your twenties,” Keiji says, using the fact that Tetsurou has stepped aside to take his place and thumb at the patches of fuzz.

“Stooooooop,” Koutarou whines. “It tickles.”

Keiji switches to something more like gentle scratching and Koutarou stops squirming. “Maybe you are just growing fuzzy. A fluff monster.”

“You sound way too excited about that,” Kenma murmurs.

“It’s the dream,” Keiji replies, simply.

-X-

“You have a problem,” Kenma says, far too judgmental for someone currently hanging upside-down off his bed and playing Zelda.

“Yes, and his DS is about to run out of battery if he doesn’t plug it in,” Keiji says, as he presses his face harder into Koutarou’s back, watching the fluff flutter in his breath as he strokes a finger along it with the greatest care.

He can see the edges of whatever ridges Koutarou is growing, symmetrical on both sides, with small patches of gray and white fluff along them. Whatever they are, they’re starting to curve out under the armpits, the protrusion a little more pronounced right underneath the arms.

They’ve been growing rapidly over the past two days, and at this point Tetsurou has decided to ask Kiyoko to check them out. At least this time he managed to do it without tumbling into hysterics at first.

Koutarou lets Keiji nuzzle at the fluff, crawling forward carefully to see if he can manage to see what Kenma is playing from the edge of Keiji’s bed.

Kenma sees his neck craning and clumsily rolls off his own bed to position himself under Koutarou’s nose, leaning against Keiji’s bed, and Koutarou shuffles back to make sure he doesn’t faceplant into Kenma’s head, forcing Keiji to wriggle back so he can keep one cheek in the fluff.

Tetsurou opens the door, chatting with someone exuberantly. A moment later Keiji sees why, because Yachi Hitoka skips into the room.

Koutarou sits up so fast Keiji nearly falls off the bed. “Hitoka-chan!” he cries.

She squeaks at the loud noise, then deflates when she sees it’s Koutarou. He scampers off the bed like an overly excited labrador and swings her straight off the ground into a hug. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you!”

“Koutarou-kun,” she wheezes. “Please… you’re killing me.”

He sets her down and vibrates in place over her, grinning. “How are you?” he asks.

“Same as usual,” she says, her face slumping adorably. “We are so busy at the clinic. I had to vaccinate 23 dogs today before lunch…”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure they were the best vaccinations ever!” Koutarou says, even though in Keiji’s opinion, telling Yachi Hitoka not to worry is like telling a goldfish to look straight ahead.

She chuckles nervously. “Thanks, Koutarou-kun,” she says. “But I think most vaccinations are exactly the same, mine aren’t anything special.”

“What kinds of dogs were they?” Koutarou blurts, ignoring that bit of logic entirely.

By the time Kiyoko ducks into the room, Yachi is babbling animatedly about a yorkshire terrier while Koutarou acts as though the mere idea of any dog is the most amazing thing he’s ever heard. Kiyoko smiles at the scene before her. “Alright,” she says. “I see you’ve already got your shirt off, Bokuto-kun, so if you’d sit down, I’ll take a look at those ridges.”

Koutarou bounces down onto the bed and smiles up at her brightly.

The edges of her lips quirk softly as she pushes her hair behind her ear and presses her hands to his sides. “Well,” she says, prodding carefully. “Bone is the only thing I can feel clearly, but I think you’re also growing some extra muscle. Any cramping or soreness?”

“A little,” Koutarou says. “But mostly it itches.”

She hums and kneels down, pressing his back forward so she can get a better look. “Right now it just looks like a sort of ridge system, but… well. Given the configuration of the ridges, I wouldn’t be surprised if you _were_ growing extra limbs.”

“ _How_ ,” Tetsurou groans.

“I don’t know, but…” She presses lightly at a spot under Koutarou’s shoulder blade. “I think I can feel some joints and they are in the right places for limbs of… some kind.”

“Some kind?”

“Well… yes. Like I say, it’s hard to tell what it will grow into. How’s your appetite?”

“I’m hungry,” Koutarou says. “But I’m usually hungry, so that’s not different.”

“Well, I’d say get plenty to eat… whatever this is is growing ridiculously rapidly but it does seem to be good, healthy bone. Though… fairly light on marrow. Perhaps just because it’s growing so quickly.”

“Nothing to worry about, though?” Tetsurou asks.

She shakes her head. “No. It’s healthy bone, whatever it is.”

He nods, and she stands up, drawing him away with a gentle hand on his elbow. “While I’m here, though, I was wondering if you’ve talked to Koushi lately? We agreed that we were breaking up on good terms but he hasn’t been very communicative and I worry he’s…”

Something sparks in Yachi’s eyes, drawing Keiji’s attention away from the conversation. “Hold on!” she cries. “You said he’s been having other things going on, right?”

“Increased sensitivity to light and increased grip strength,” Tetsurou calls, before turning back to Kiyoko.

Yachi burrows her way under Koutarou’s arm, poking at the fluff there. “Feathers!”she cries. “They feel like down feathers!”

Koutarou looks at her blankly, head cocked.

“I think you’re developing owl-like characteristics,” Yachi says. “And possibly growing wings.”

Koutarou takes a moment to process that, and then his eyes light up in a very specific way.

Keiji is a fast thinker, but there is only so fast that a person can register that their boyfriend has a tendency to grab people when excited and an unfamiliar grip strength, move across the bed _and_ come up with a reasonable way to stop him from grabbing onto a tiny, breakable young woman.

Which is why it is utterly understandable that his base reaction is simply to stop Koutarou’s forward movement as quickly as possible, with the nearest limb available.

Though, possibly, he could have been a _little_ more restrained when kicking his boyfriend in the face.

-X-

“I can’t believe you kicked your boyfriend in the face,” Kenma mutters, with a straight face. Behind him Tetsurou howls with hideous laughter.

“It’s not so bad, honest,” Koutarou says, while his nose gushes blood.

“I am so… so sorry,” Keiji says again, as he presses a bag of frozen strawberries to Koutarou’s nose. Koutarou pats him on the head comfortingly. Yachi vibrates nervously under Keiji’s elbow, like this is all her fault.

“Hey guys,” Koutarou says suddenly, voice slightly nasally from the blood. “If I’m an owl you think I can turn my head all the way around?”

Tetsurou slides onto the floor, in tears, snorting in air like he’s only moments away from dying. Keiji wishes he would hurry up and do it to save Keiji some embarrassment.

“I hope not,” Kenma mutters.

“Hold on, I gotta try it,” Koutarou says, pushing Keiji’s hand away.

“Koutarou, I don’t think…” Keiji starts, as Koutarou whips his head to the side. It does not spin all the way around, just drips blood all over the floor and Keiji’s shirt and manages to get Koutarou to pull his neck and subsequently his back. He hisses and presses a hand to the now cramping muscle.

“Owowow, it’s cramping,” he whines.

Keiji watches him with a dull exhaustion. “Just sit still, you are bleeding everywhere,” he says, pulling Koutarou’s chin back up and pressing the strawberries to his face. They are also leaking. Everything is dripping with pink and red.

Tetsurou may actually be dead in the corner, because not even his snorts are making it out through his laughter anymore.

“I’m so sorry,” Keiji says again, weakly.

“It barely even hurts,” Koutarou says, pressing one of his hands to his back as he winces with both the pain of the cramp and the sting of the berries on his face.

“I’m just going to go outside and wander the grounds aimlessly, for a moment,” Keiji says, suddenly woozy at the idea that Koutarou’s blood is on his shirt. “Wondering how I could do this.”

“Babe, it’s barely even bleeding anymore,” Koutarou tries.

“Goodbye, I’ll be back sometime,” Keiji says, shoving the berries into Kenma’s hand, who makes such an appalled face at the sticky juice they spew all over his glove that Keiji would enjoy the reaction deeply if he weren’t so horrified by the fact that he just _broke Koutarou’s nose with his foot_.

“Babe, come on,” Koutarou calls after him. “Kiyoko already fixed it!”

Tetsurou whimpers, rolling onto his stomach with a helpless wheeze. Koutarou looks down at him, halfway to laughter just from looking at him. “Tetsu, stop _laughing_.”

Keiji walks out of the kitchen and through the living room and hops out the open window, not even bothering to open the door, and makes to pace up and down the hedges along the back wall.

The only problem is that there is someone in the hedges already.

After a moment’s inspection, it becomes clear that it’s the young woman from the sewer, who had been so egregiously in his face when they were leaving.

She looks him up and down. “Are you covered in blood?” she asks, far too eagerly.

“ _Yes_ ,” Keiji says, as threateningly as he can muster, despite the fact that it’s mostly juice.

“Fuckin’ _brutal_ , dude,” she says, straightening up, as though the idea of someone she’d last seen stabbing a man in the eye stumble out of the window covered in blood is all she needs to feel confident about coming out of hiding. “So anyway...”

“Why are you _here_?” he hisses.

“That’s what I’m getting to. Anyway, when I said you were in charge, _you_ said,” she drawls, “that we should figure out a better way of choosing a leader. So we held a vote. And… you won!”

“I’m sorry, _what_?” Keiji stammers.

She hands him a torn and tattered shoebox from the bag slung over her shoulder. It’s full of scraps of papers. He lifts one of them out gingerly. It reads, in chicken scratch-like kanji, something that was probably meant to say, _the stabby guy_. Another one just has a tiny drawing of someone stabbing another stick person in the face.

He stares at it for a long time. “Ok, yeah,” Keiji says, eventually, handing the box back a bit more violently than he’d meant to at first. “I don’t care. Please leave.”

“Oh, come on. You’re _in charge_ ,” she says. “You could order us to do all kinds of things. We’re great at… several things. A few things. Some of us.”

"I don't want to be in charge," Keiji says. "I just really wanted to stab that asshole in the face."

She snorts. “Ok, well, congratulations, but so did everyone else, so…” She shakes the box.

“Get out or I’m setting off the security system,” Keiji says. “And I’m fairly certain there’s a laser out here somewhere, so…”

He turns to go.

“Ok, ok wait,” she says, dashing after him. “Listen, we need the help, alright? Sakusa is sulking about how he got beaten by someone too weak to kill him and the rest of them are impossible to handle without someone in charge.”

“Not my problem,” Keiji says.

“Well, it is, actually, since you stabbed him,” she says, a little too matter-of-fact for Keiji’s liking.

“ _He_ started the attempted murders,” Keiji snaps, turning back around to face her.

“Well, we didn’t!” she cries back. She actually looks serious right now, and Keiji feels a moment of guilt. It vanishes quickly. If Koutarou hadn’t accidentally turned out to be a mutant, he would be dead right now, and it would be their doing. There is nothing even remotely forgivable about that. “Maybe Sakusa’s kind of a jerk sometimes, but he was that ruthless because we’ve got enemies. Scary ones. And right now we don’t have any way of defending ourselves because Sakusa has his code and the rest are just…”

Keiji glares her down. “You should have left. Koutarou. Out of it.”

“He came to _us_ ,” she snarls.

Keiji pulls himself to his full height and glares down at her. “Get. Out.”

Her eyes narrow. “Fine,” she hisses, in a way that says that this isn’t at all the last Keiji has seen of her.

“Keiji?” comes Kenma’s quiet voice.

On impulse, Keiji shoves the girl back into the hedge.

“Are you talking to yourself?” Kenma asks.

“I’ll explain later,” Keiji says. He shoots a threatening look at the hedge, which manages to radiate something akin to sticking its tongue out at him, and stomps after Kenma.

Keiji now feels twice as guilty upon seeing the bruises over Koutarou’s nose, because now while Koutarou’s nose is bruised and bloody, Keiji’s nose is full of secrets.

-X-

The bruises aren’t so bad, Keiji thinks, now that the swelling has gone down.

It’s 8 in the evening and Koutarou is already snoring softly in Keiji’s bed, soft hair fluttering when he draws in snorting breaths. His sleeping schedule is a nightmare, but Keiji smiles as he watches him, sitting with a mug of warm tea and his legs crossed beside him. He reaches down to pat the soft feathers, draining the last of his tea and stumbling to his feet to take it downstairs.

It’s quiet, the TV playing in the background and just a few giggles coming from one of the back hallways as Koganegawa plays with the children. Keiji yawns as he pads down the stairs, and as a result he nearly screams when he staggers into the kitchen to find two pairs of intensely judgemental cat eyes staring at him, one of them terrifyingly red in the dim evening light.

“I hate both of you,” Keiji wheezes.

“We were here the whole time,” Tetsurou points out. “You’re the one who wasn’t paying attention.”

“Why do you have to… do that. Look so… much,” Keiji murmurs, striding angrily across the kitchen and rinsing out his mug as Kenma watches him from where he’s sitting on the counter.

“We’re just curious,” Tetsurou says, slightly jeering. “Kenma says you were talking to the hedges earlier.”

“Apparently Fukurodani is very hung up on the idea that I should be their leader,” Keiji mutters. “One of them decided to swing by to let me know.”

Tetsurou snorts. “So?” he asks.

Keiji looks at him incredulously. “What do you mean, _so_?”

“So, are you gonna start amassing your criminal empire or what?”

Keiji gawks at him. “I am not going to become the leader of a mutant gang,” he says.

“Why not?” Kenma asks. He’s eating dried cranberries from a box lid, possibly because he couldn’t be bothered to find a bowl. Keiji takes a large handful out of spite, but it has no effect on Kenma, who is frustratingly keen on sharing things with his boyfriends. He offers Keiji the lid thoughtlessly, making Keiji’s pettiness even more useless.

“Why n-…?” Keiji spits. “They tried to kill Koutarou.” He shoves the cranberries into his mouth angrily.

“Well, we’re lucky it didn’t take,” Tetsurou says. “But now they could be useful, right?”

“No,” Keiji says, around the cranberries.

“Ushijima has been helpful,” Kenma volunteers. Then he squints, slightly frustrated that he has to say whatever he intends to say next. “And Lev is ok I guess.”

“Well, I don’t want anything to do with them,” Keiji says, taking more of Kenma’s cranberries, albeit less petulantly this time.

“Mhmm,” Tetsurou says, eyes far too smug. “And why are you hiding that from a certain someone?”

“I’m not…” Keiji starts to grumble, but he has to look away to say it, which Tetsurou is bound to notice. “I just don’t want to tell him I stabbed someone,” he mutters, glaring at a spot on the wall.

“I bet he’d want to be friends with them,” Tetsurou jeers.

Keiji crosses his arms. “I don’t want him to be friends with people who tried to kill him.” He feels childish even saying it, but it’s true. And what with the laughing girl’s plea for help in… whatever it is they need help with, Keiji knows Tetsurou is more right than he knows. Koutarou would be tripping over himself to help them.

Keiji is oddly insulted by the idea. Koutarou’s caring should be earned, he feels, and anyone who has started out by giving him a horrible fever and trying to kill him has decidedly not earned it. Even if Koutarou would still happily give it.

Keiji’s stomach flips. _Have you earned it, lately?_ a voice in the back of his head whispers. _Or are you just keeping it to yourself even though you're the sort of person who goes around stabbing people's eyes out?_

Keiji shakes himself, trying to forget that voice. Koutarou would probably understand, if Keiji told him what had happened with Sakusa. He'd probably comfort Keiji, apologize for scaring him into doing something so crazy. Maybe he'd freak out about the sheer self-destructive abandon with which he'd skewered himself on a fucking dagger.

 _If_ Keiji told him.

But Keiji isn't going to tell him, because the thought makes his stomach turn. Because… because…

 _Because Koutarou wouldn't have stabbed someone, even if he_ was _in pain after losing someone precious._

Keiji doesn't want to imagine what Koutarou would do if he lost Keiji, but when it had been Tetsurou, all Koutarou had done was hold up the rest of them, while being as crushed and shocked as anyone. That's what Koutarou _does,_ and Keiji… does not. Keiji apparently tries to stab people in the face.

Keiji doesn't want Koutarou to comfort him, any more than he wants Koutarou to be kind to Fukurodani. Perhaps for much the same reasons.

Ironically, it feels like only natural that Fukurodani would want him as a leader. If Keiji was turned inside out, he'd probably fit right in with their hideous looks.

If Koutarou was turned inside out, he'd probably be made of the down feathers that are bursting from his back.

It’s all hopelessly ironic.

Tetsurou sighs and stands up, bringing his arms around Keiji’s waist and kissing the back of his neck. “Hey,” he says. “I’m teasing you, but seriously. Don’t freeze Kou out. You know how much he loves you.”

Keiji twists around to scowl at him. Tetsurou grins, poking his nose. “You get the cutest little frown when you know I’m right.”

“I hate you,” Keiji mutters, but he feels considerably better when Tetsurou kisses his cheek.

“I think I’m going to look at our security system, though,” Kenma mutters, hopping off the counter. “It hasn’t been much good lately.”

“I’m sure Ukai will be relieved to have you on the job,” Tetsurou laughs, as Kenma glares back at him over his shoulder, annoyed that yet again, Tetsurou has caught him putting effort into things, despite his best attempts to pretend he’s lazy so that people won’t _expect_ him to put effort into things.

Using the opening Kenma made for him, Keiji finally puts the mug away and starts up the stairs. “Hey,” Tetsurou calls after him. Keiji looks back with a tired look. “I’m serious, Keiji. You don’t have to hide things from Kou. You know how much he loves you.”

“I know,” Keiji says.

It’s useless to say so, though. It’s been a long time since Keiji tried to hide parts of himself because he thought Koutarou wouldn’t love them. Lately he only hides things because he doesn’t want to make Koutarou love those parts of him.

Tetsurou’s reassurance might be helpful in some ways, but it’s also the last thing Keiji wants to hear.

-X-

“Do you think I can move them?” Koutarou asks a few days later. His growths are starting to look less like humps and more like stumps, sticking out of his back awkwardly. They still don’t look anything like wings, but they seem to be getting there.

With every passing day, Keiji feels a little better, especially in the sunlight and beside Koutarou, but the sadness and fear from earlier still lingers.

But the girl from Fukurodani hasn’t shown up again, at the very least.

Keiji takes the fluffy stumps growing out of Koutarou’s back in his hands and tries to nudge them from side to side. “I don’t know,” he says finally. “Do you feel like you could move them?”

“I don’t know,” Koutarou says, scrunching his nose up. “They feel weird.”

Keiji smirks slightly at that. “Well, they are very soft,” he says. “I like them.”

“They’ll get bigger, though, right?” Koutarou says.

“If they are going to be wings, I doubt this is as far as they’ll grow.”

“Do you think they’ll be big wings though? Like, flying wings?” Koutarou continues.

“I don’t know, Koutarou,” Keiji says. “You will just have to be patient and find out.”

Koutarou groans. “I hate being patient,” he mutters, sulking at Keiji like he can somehow make his wings grow faster.

“I’m afraid you have no choice, Koutarou. Besides, I’m sure your body knows what it’s doing, growing at the pace it’s growing.”

“That’s true,” Koutarou sighs. “I shot up right at the end of middle school and I had the _worst_ growing pains. But at least I was taller than Kenma finally.”

“You were shorter than Kenma?” Keiji says. The idea delights him, for some reason.

“Oh yeah. For a little bit, when Kenma had a growth spurt when we were 12ish, and he was even taller than Tetsu, and Tetsu was super sad about it.”

Keiji laughs. “Really?”

“Oh yeah, Kenma was like… a millimeter taller for a few months and Tetsu had his parents measure him three times a week.”

“I assume he was very excited when he’d beaten Kenma,” Keiji murmurs, as Koutarou shuffles down to put his head in his lap. Keiji sighs, missing the fluffy stumps already. But in exchange, he gets Koutarou’s large eyes staring up at him. They are looking fractionally less human each day, but Keiji finds that it doesn’t take away from the bright, joyous nature of them.

“Oh yeah,” Koutarou says, staring up at him. “He ran straight over to Kenma’s and declared it. And Kenma asked him why it mattered, an’ he said ‘cause he’s gotta protect Kenma and for that he’s gotta be taller than him. And then he fell down the stairs and broke his arm and he cried all the way until Kenma signed his cast.”

Keiji smiles. He wishes, sometimes, that he could have been there, 11 years old, laughing over Tetsurou’s height struggles, signing his cast, instead of hiding from his captors in a cupboard.

“You ok?” Koutarou asks. “Just ‘cause you’ve been making a funny face since a few days ago. My nose feels better, by the way!”

“I know,” Keiji says, running his hands through Koutarou’s hair. “It’s not that.”

Koutarou stares up at him, but he doesn’t ask again. Keiji gets the odd feeling that he already knows what Keiji is feeling, even if he can’t know why.

“Would you like to go to my parents’ house this weekend?” Keiji murmurs.

Koutarou doesn’t push. “Ok,” he says. When Keiji tries to look away, he reaches his hands up, leaving them open so that Keiji can close the distance and lean into them, letting Koutarou wrap his fingers around Keiji’s head to pull Keiji’s nose down to Koutarou’s still slightly bruised one. “I really like you, you know that?”

“I know,” Keiji says weakly.

“Always,” Koutarou insists.

“I know,” Keiji says, albeit with a shudder this time.

“Even if you accidentally broke my nose and owe me all the ice cream ever.”

“I _knew_ you would stoop to blackmail eventually,” Keiji chuckles, but he accepts Koutarou’s kiss on tip of Keiji’s nose. “But I suppose we can come to an agreement.”

Keiji is still nervous about what Fukurodani might do with his refusal, and he still can’t shake the feeling of guilt that seeps into every thought surrounding Fukurodani and Sakusa. But for the time being, Koutarou’s bright grin is more than enough to put the idea of Fukurodani and all that happened there out of Keiji’s mind entirely.

“Half the ice cream ever?” Koutarou tries.

“Deal,” Keiji says, with a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that I've revealed the incredibly shocking plot twist that Bokuto is, in fact, an owl mutant, I also want to thank silvercistern for being an excellent source of owl facts.
> 
> And while I'm at it, fxvixen, for her consistent betaing, which I keep forgetting to mention. (But seriously she is a lifesaver.)
> 
> Next week: Akaashi Keiji is infinitely spoiled by his parents who love him. Daichi shows up briefly. Kenma punches things.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tetsurou is quiet, as though weighing the options. “Promise me there’s nothing we need to talk about first,” he says, finally. “And we’ll try it.”
> 
> Kenma just draws his knees up to his chest. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he says. “We keep talking about it.”
> 
> “I didn’t say you have to talk about it,” Tetsurou says, kissing his knee. “Just that we shouldn’t try until we do.”
> 
> Kenma wishes that didn’t sound so goddamn reasonable. He wishes it didn’t make him so angry. He wishes Tetsurou wasn’t so aware that Kenma’s not angry at him. He launches out of bed and stomps down the stairs and then grits out a furious sigh when he sees who’s in the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's an update schedule. (fxvixen is busy today so I can post while she's not watching. This is how I bribe myself to study.)

“Alright, let’s see ‘em,” Akaashi Tomone says. She’s not a tall woman, but she has a sort of standing that makes her seem much taller than she is. She has her son’s steely eyes and his sharp sense of humor, but with ridiculously rosy and round cheeks to offset them. 

Kenma is slightly frightened of her, but Koutarou has no such problems. He drops his jacket easily and pulls his shirt up. Tomone nearly shrieks with laughter, and it’s not hard to see why.

At this point, Koutarou’s wings certainly look like wings, but they look like the clumsy wings of chicks, with mottled fluff and a certain twitchiness.

“Feel how soft,” Keiji manages around a mouthful of boiled greens, leaning back in his chair precariously to brush his fingertips against the wings.

Tomone thumbs at the feathers as well.

Koutarou grins back at both of them, glowing with the attention. 

Keiji is so distracted by the feathers that he nearly tips his chair over before Tomone manages to reach over and catch him, wrapping an arm around him. He nestles his head against her chest and sighs, letting her toy with his hair.

This is the number one reason that Kenma likes coming with Keiji to see his parents, closely followed by the fact that Tomone’s pies are godly and that there’s no place calmer than in the front seat of Tetsurou’s car as he drives down the highway here. But this beats all of that, the boyish, loose limbed look Keiji gets in his parents arms.

After all, the fact that Keiji’s fear is more like the fear of a deadly pit viper these days doesn’t make it any less upsetting to know that he’s still a tiny bit frightened even in their calmest moments.

Not here, though. This house is Keiji’s one place of total solace, the one place he has to make up for the childhood he was robbed of.

Kenma wonders if Koutarou’s ever considered painting something inspired by this. Something abstract, confusing, permanent but only understandable to them. Kenma would take a photo, but the idea of the rest of the world seeing Keiji vulnerable like this, down to the last detail, is something that Kenma is more than frightened by. Like a nude photograph, but worse.

“If those wings get any larger you’re going to have to start cutting holes in your shirts,” Tomone continues, letting Keiji nuzzle into her breast while she thumbs at one flimsy wing.

“Oh man they already feel pretty weird under my shirt!” Koutarou says.

“Can you move them any?” Tomone asks.

“Maybe!” Koutarou says, sticking his tongue out as he tries. His left wing gives a halfhearted wriggle. Koutarou laughs, loud and unashamed. “That feels so weird! It’s like trying to move your middle toe or something!”

“Hachiro is quite good with a sewing machine,” Tomone laughs. “Pull down your shirt, I’ll grab the chalk and we’ll cut you some wing holes, hm?”

“Cool!” Koutarou says.

“Hachiro!” she calls. There’s no answer. “I can’t believe your father is showing off his library again…”

“It’s an incredible library, okaasan,” Keiji says, with a bleary sort of innocence. 

Tomone plants a kiss on his nose. “You take after your father, you little bookworm,” she says, and stomps up the steps to their library. “ _ Hachirooo _ .”

It is an incredible library, full of antique books. There are tomes of rare anatomy books that Tetsurou is probably fawning over with Hachiro at this very moment. It’s a gold mine for Keiji and the impressive antique bindings have Koutarou hooked as well. Kenma, personally, is on Tomone’s side. He likes books, but he prefers games and movies, and there’s only so long he can look around in the library.

Keiji, Tetsurou, and Keiji’s father, on the other hand, would probably be capable of living in the shelves of that library. 

After a good long while, Tomone returns with Tetsurou and Hachiro in tow, Hachiro carrying a large sewing machine after him. “Alright, let’s hem this shirt,” Tomone says.

Hachiro looks a great deal more like Keiji, but he’s a quiet, serene man who doesn’t have half the presence his wife and son do. 

He sits down and starts setting up the sewing machine while Tomone brandishes the chalk. “Turn the shirt inside out first,” he says, peering at her over a pair of round glasses. 

“It’s chalk!” she declares. “It’ll wash out.”

“If you turn it inside out the hemming will hide any stains it might leave,” Hachiro says.

She mutters darkly at him in response, but pulls the shirt off and then crams it back on Koutarou’s head while he wriggles into it obediently. She prods at his back, finding the wings and marking them with chalk. “You’ll have to come back soon and we’ll do this for all your shirts,” she says, as she deepens the marks so they’re visible. “We’re going to have to buy more mustard, though, at the rate Keiji eats.”

Keiji says something decidedly rebellious, but it’s muffled by the food in his mouth.

Kenma snorts, roughly at the same time his phone buzzes. And then continues to buzz. Kenma considers just ignoring it, but to be honest, most people know not to call him unless they absolutely need to.

He sighs and pulls out his phone, hoping it’s an unknown number so he has an excuse to not answer. It’s not. It’s Suga’s number. He sighs and picks up, getting odd looks from Tetsurou and Keiji. Koutarou is distracted by the fact that he’s caught in his shirt and Tomone is only making the situation worse every time she tries to help. 

“What?” Kenma groans.

“ _ Listen. I uh… might have gotten slightly arrested. _ ”

Kenma stares fixedly at a point on the wall. “Slightly arrested?” he asks, finally. Tetsurou raises an eyebrow.

“ _ Only slightly _ .”

Kenma is silent.

“ _ Could you pick me up, _ ” Suga says, finally.

Kenma slowly draws the phone from his ear. “Can we pick Suga up? He’s been slightly arrested.”

“Slightly?” Tetsurou asks.

“Slightly,” Kenma confirms.

“Sure,” Tetsurou replies, like someone who doesn’t know how to feel because he doesn’t understand what’s going on.

-X-

The station is fairly calm when Kenma walks in. “Ah, are you here for Sugawara?” comes a deep voice from behind him when he walks in.

“Uh,” he says, turning around. The speaker is unremarkable in every way, with an average build and a face that is just forcefully pleasant. “Yeah. I’m… Kozume Kenma, I’m a… friend.”

“We’ve met before,” the speaker says.

Kenma blinks at him.

“I was Tanaka’s roommate,” he says. “A few years back.”

“Oh,” Kenma says. He’s no good with faces. Or names, really. “Um. Noya’s friend?”

“Yeah,” he responds, extending his hand. Kenma takes it hesitantly. “Sawamura Daichi.”

“S-so…” Kenma murmurs. This is turning out to be a lot more personal than he’d thought and he wasn’t prepared. He’d assumed all the talking he’d have to do was just mentioning who he’s here for and signing a paper. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth suddenly. “Suga? Slightly…  ar-arrested?”

“Yeah, well, he didn’t actually make it into the apartment he was breaking into,” Sawamura says, sort of cheerily. “Actually he was breaking into the wrong apartment to start with. I’ve been watching him go at it for a week.”  

“Oh,” Kenma says.

“And then today he slipped and got caught in his grappling hook and ended up stuck there. Upside down.”

This is the most awkward moment Kenma has ever been in, but Sawamura doesn’t seem the least bit phased. “He spent about twenty minutes hanging there. I would have gotten him down sooner, but he was very insistent that he didn’t need my help.”

“Oh gods,” Kenma says. He wants to be anywhere but here.

“After a while I figured the only way I was going to be able to help without getting yelled at was arresting him,” Sawamura says. “But I’m sure Asahi wouldn’t have the guts to press charges even if he had made it into the apartment, the coward, so I can’t even charge him with the crime he meant to commit.”

“We’ll take him home,” Kenma mutters. “And we’ll keep an eye on him.”

“Are you close friends of his?” Sawamura asks, crossing his arms and leaning back against his desk.

“Not really,” Kenma says, after a moment’s hesitation. “I like him but we don’t hang out.”

“Does he  _ have _ close friends?” 

Kenma is silent for a moment. When was the last time he saw anyone hanging out with Suga just for the hell of it and not because they needed support or someone to listen? Kiyoko and Yachi, but they haven’t been around the Institute for months, even before the official break up.

“He had two girlfriends,” Kenma says, finally. “But they broke up.”

Sawamura nods, as though this is exactly what he’d expected to hear. “If I give you my number will you sneak it into his phone sometime?” 

Kenma cocks his head. 

Sawamura sighs, leaning back against his desk. “I tried talking to him, but he’s stubborn. But I want him to have someone who will listen when he’s ready to talk. I’m sure he won’t accept it, though.” 

Kenma narrows his eyes. “Why are you are you so insistent on helping someone you don’t know?”

Sawamura laughs. “Because he spent 20 minutes hanging upside down outside an apartment he was breaking into and when a cop came by to ask him if he needed help, he screamed ‘ _ I know what I’m doing _ .’ He’s both intriguing and could really use the support, I think.”

Kenma nods. “Unconditional,” he adds. “Unconditional support.”  _ Don’t bother if you’re just going to ask more of him, too,  _ he thinks.  _ He doesn’t need that. _

Sawamura smiles, and Kenma can’t explain why, but he trusts him. “I’m not looking for anything from him. I just want to listen.”

Kenma sighs, unsure of how he was won over, but won over nonetheless. “Give me your number. I’ll give you his, too.”

Sawamura beams and starts looking for a pen and paper.

-X-

“You wanna talk about it?” Koutarou asks.

“Not really,” Suga says, staring at the roof of their car as they coast down the highway.

Kenma finds himself staring at his gloves. He forgets sometimes that he’s not the only one whose mutation makes things… difficult. Keiji and Tetsurou have both gone through hell because or for their powers, true, but… but it’s not the same. For Suga, maybe, it is the same, in that special, tiring sort of way. 

Maybe when Suga goes around smiling and chattering with everyone, he’s actually drawing back just as much as Kenma is.

Koutarou slings an arm around Suga and shakes him a little. “Well, don’t go getting arrested!” he chirps, laughing. “It’s a lot easier to talk things out than to go to jail!”

Suga smiles a little at that. “Thanks, Bokuto, I’ll remember that.”

Kenma looks away. He can’t help but think that Koutarou might be wrong, but at least he’s saying something. Kenma doesn’t have anything comforting to say. Or really, anything at all to say.

-X-

“I want to try having sex,” Kenma says, wrapping his blankets around his fingers.

“Hm?” Tetsurou murmurs, peering over his glasses as he reads something for his first day tomorrow. “What, now?”

“Real sex,” Kenma says, a bit more forcefully.

Tetsurou looks up properly at that. “Wait, what?”

Kenma wriggles his toes together. “Well,” he murmurs. “I just thought… maybe, to take your mind off of how nervous you are.”

Tetsurou watches him carefully. “Kenma,” he says warily.

“With a condom we should… should be fine,” Kenma says. “You can ride me and I’ll try to stay still and focus on… on things.”

“Kenma,” Tetsurou says again, softly. 

That soft tone rankles tonight, though, a gentle reminder. Kenma doesn’t need a reminder. “Well, do you want to try or not?” he snaps.

“Do you?” Tetsurou asks.

“Of course I do!” Kenma blurts out. Anger and fear melt into something sticky and hot and Kenma wants to throw a temper tantrum over it but mostly he just wants to have sex with his boyfriend after  _ eight fucking years _ .

Tetsurou is quiet, as though weighing the options. “Promise me there’s nothing we need to talk about first,” he says, finally. “And we’ll try it.”

Kenma just draws his knees up to his chest. “I don’t  _ want  _ to talk about it,” he says. “We  _ keep _ talking about it.”

“I didn’t say you have to talk about it,” Tetsurou says, kissing his knee. “Just that we shouldn’t try until we do.”

Kenma wishes that didn’t sound so goddamn reasonable. He wishes it didn’t make him so angry. He wishes Tetsurou wasn’t so aware that Kenma’s not angry at him. He launches out of bed and stomps down the stairs and then grits out a furious sigh when he sees who’s in the kitchen.

Of all people to be in the kitchen right now.

“Kenma-san!” Lev cries happily, as disgustingly obvlious as ever. “Do you want me to make you a sandwich? I’m going to have a picnic on the roof!”

Kenma glares at him. “On the roof?”

“Yeah!” Lev’s tail swishes behind him. “It’s late enough that no one can see, so I can finally go outside!”

It’s suddenly quiet enough to hear a pin drop. For a moment everything seems like a different world that Kenma has just now noticed. Lev continues making sandwiches like everything is the same but for Kenma nothing is the same. “Sure,” he says, finally, with a mouth that doesn’t feel like his own.

Lev looks up at him. 

“I’d like a sandwich,” Kenma says.

Lev’s face suggests Kenma just hung the stars for him.

-X-

“It’s quiet out here, isn’t it Kenma-san!” Lev says.

“It would be if you weren’t talking so much,” Kenma grumbles, biting into his sandwich.

Lev doesn’t seem to catch the hint. “It’s nice! Everyone sleeping! Kinda lonely, but now Kenma-san is here!”

Kenma picks a radish out of his sandwich. He’d specifically told Lev he didn’t like them. “Did Yaku ever get you to an amusement park?” Kenma murmurs.

“Ah!” Lev shouts. “Yaku-san wanted to take me to an amusement park?!”

Kenma huffs out a sigh. “He just mentioned it. If I had any ideas.”

“Do you?” Lev asks, his tail swishing behind them.

Kenma bats it away. “Careful with that. And I haven’t thought about it. There was all that stuff with Tooru and then I had to graduate and get a job.”

“Oh,” Lev says. He’s quiet for half a second, giving Kenma a moment of hope before leaning in again. Not that there’s much point in leaning in, because he only raises his voice again. “Noya-san’s friend works there!”

“Maybe I’ll talk to him,” Kenma grits out, glaring at Lev. Lev doesn’t seem to notice.

“It’s been years since I’ve gone to an amusement park,” Lev muses. “When are we going?”

“I said maybe,” Kenma groans.

“Ok,” Lev says. This time he’s quiet for long enough for Kenma to relax a little and try to bite into his sandwich before letting out a loud, “Kenma-san!” and startling him back into annoyance. This time, Kenma tries glaring at the sandwich. “What’s your favorite ride?”

“What?” Kenma growls.

“At the amusement park,” Lev says. “What’s your favorite?”

“I don’t know,” Kenma says. “I don’t like amusement parks. Crowds make me nervous, and I don’t like letting my guard down around that many people.”

“Ah,” Lev says, almost softly. “That sounds tiring.”

Kenma forces his shoulders to relax. “It is,” he says.

“Maybe that’s why you’re so lazy at everything else, Kenma-san!”

This time he notices Kenma’s glare, possibly because it has actual murderous intent behind it this time. “I’m throwing you off this roof,” Kenma says.

“Geh?!” Lev says, disappearing and reappearing a few meters away. “Why?!”

Kenma just huffs and continues with his sandwich. For a while, Lev actually manages to sit in silence. In fact, this time it’s Kenma who breaks the silence. “Lev,” he says, and Lev’s tail twitches. “Can I borrow a little of your power?”

“Sure,” Lev says jovially, extending a finger.

Kenma slides his glove off and touches a finger to his. He can only feel a touch of Lev’s memories and thoughts, but he can feel the rush of power. He closes his eyes, focusing on the area just in front of him. With a sudden dropping feeling in his stomach, he finds himself slipping through something like cold, slimy fog. When he opens his eyes, he’s in the spot he was focusing on. Lev watches him quietly, tail twitching.  “Thanks,” he says. “I have to do something real quick.”

He poofs downstairs with the same technique. The air tastes like smoke when he reemerges. He tiptoes to Suga’s room, listening for evidence that Suga is asleep, then warps inside when he hears nothing. Suga is still fast asleep when Kenma slides next to his bed, making it easy to grab his phone. 

He pulls the paper from his pocket, then pauses. If he enters it as Daichi, will Suga just delete it? Kenma can just keep saving it, but that seems tiresome. Or, he could fake the name, but then Suga won’t notice it there. Or he’ll figure out it’s Sawamura’s. 

Finally, Kenma sighs and enters it as “if you delete this i’ll get you arrested for real,” and decides to check on the number in a week. Well, it doesn’t guarantee that Suga will call him, or even that he won’t delete it.  Or that Suga won’t exact revenge on him for conspiring with Sawamura.

Kenma sighs, sliding the phone back into its place. People are too much trouble sometimes. 

He pops back up to the roof. Or rather… right above the roof and then finds himself falling, barely managing to catch himself before he hits it. He lowers himself down and sits. “Thanks,” he tells Lev, who doesn’t even bother to ask what he needed the power for, just grins.

Well. Maybe there is some advantage to befriending an idiot.

They sit for a while longer before Kenma groans and stands up. “I’ve got to go back,” he says. “Tetsurou is probably worried.”

“Alright, Kenma-san!” Lev chirps. “I’ll stay up here, but thanks for coming with me!”

“Don’t get used to it,” Kenma mutters. 

“I won’t, Kenma-san!”

Kenma still has enough power to poof downstairs, but he can feel it fading already.

Contrary to his expectations, Tetsurou doesn’t seem worried in the least. “Feeling better?” he asks, when he sees Kenma. 

Kenma wraps his arms around himself. “Maybe,” he says. 

“Wanna talk about it?” Tetsurou murmurs. He reaches up and Kenma flinches. Tetsurou pauses, but he laughs a little as he does. “Calm down, I’m wearing gloves.”

Kenma sighs, but he stays still as Tetsurou brushes his hair aside, thumb kneading at his forehead. “So? Talk?”

“No,” Kenma mutters, bringing up his knee to wedge it under his chin. “You know what’s wrong. It’s what’s always wrong.”

“Then no sex,” Tetsurou says, with a grin he probably thinks is sexy or something, like he’s trying to tempt Kenma into talking. Or maybe he’s just trying to make Kenma laugh. Either way, Kenma shoves him away with a grunt, and now Tetsurou is laughing openly. 

“I don’t want sex,” Kenma mutters.

Tetsurou sits up onto his elbows and grins at Kenma. “I know,” he says. “That’s why I didn’t let you have any.”

Kenma is quiet. He feels like he’s buzzing out of his skin a little. “I’m sorry I’m being weird on your big night,”  he says. 

Tetsurou shrugs. “I’m not nervous anymore, actually,” he says. “So it’s fine if you’re feeling bad. Is it because things are changing?”

“I don’t know,” Kenma says. He’d already said he didn’t want to talk, and he resents the idea of being asked any further. It’s getting harder and harder to unclench his teeth. 

“Mm,” Tetsurou murmurs. “Sorry, sorry. I only asked in case you needed somewhere to start verbalizing. I’ll shut up. You still ok with cuddling?”

Kenma nods, slumping forward onto Tetsurou while he’s still back on his elbows. “I’m glad you’re not nervous,” he mutters.

“I figure I can’t be the  _ worst _ doctor ever,” Tetsurou says. Kenma prods him in the side, drawing out a chuckle. “Nah, I just… I figure since every doctor ever has gone through med school, and I was  _ damn good  _ at med school, I can’t be doing so badly. Plus you guys were right, it’s not like I’m going to get many Toorus as a trainee surgeon.”

“I don’t think you will find any Toorus anywhere other than wherever Tooru is,” Kenma mutters. “He’s one of a kind.”

Tetsurou laughs. “You think he’ll take it personally if I ban him from my hospital?”

“Yes,” Kenma says. “And he’ll try to ban you from wherever he ends up working.”

Kenma’s heart twists at that. Where exactly will that be? What if Tooru moves further than down the block? Surely they’ll do their best to stay here, what with Tooru’s recovery, but…

Maybe Tetsurou’s right. Maybe he is upset about how quickly things seem to be changing. Or maybe he’s been reallocating too much energy into making sure Koutarou is comfortable. Or maybe it’s Suga’s troubles or maybe he just  _ wants to fuck his fucking boyfriend or… _

He sits up quickly, growling as he clenches his hands into fists.

Maybe it’s  _ everything _ , and the fact that it never  _ stops _ even enough to let Kenma figure out  _ what the hell he is upset about _ .

“I can’t punch anything without breaking it,” he says miserably.

Tetsurou snorts. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell Ukai if you put another dent in the wall.”

“It doesn’t  _ work _ like that,” Kenma snaps. It’s impossible to just stop holding back, because there is so much to hold back that Kenma can never know if it will stop at just a hole in the wall. Not to mention, it might hurt, and it will continue to hurt even after Kenma has calmed down and does not want things to hurt.

“Danger room, then? It’s late, but at least if I’m tired out I’ll sleep deeper.”

”Sure,” Kenma says, blowing out a long breath.

Tetsurou crawls out of bed and drags Kenma after him. They pad down to the basement and to the sliding doors. “Well,” Tetsurou says. “You want to fight me or…”

“I want to break something,” Kenma says.

“Right,” Tetsurou says. “Then I’ll uh… put in a simulation.”

Kenma hunches his shoulders and looks at the ground. “Fine.”

“I’ve been practicing working with cards as bombs, so maybe some target practice.” Tetsurou says, as he makes his way through the selections. “You should work on your reaction time. You’re slow, kitten.” He grins down at Kenma.

“Fuck off,” Kenma mutters. He knows Tetsurou is baiting him into tipping over an edge so he can finally let off some steam, but it frustrates him all the same to be told point blank what his weaknesses are. He doesn’t like having weaknesses, and if he must have them, he doesn’t like that they’re noticeable.

“Fast?” Tetsurou asks.

“No,” Kenma says. He doesn’t want to face his weaknesses. He wants to let go and break something. It’s getting more and more frustrating that Tetsurou doesn’t just  _ know _ these things.

It’s been awhile since Kenma’s been in the Danger Room. He used to only train with Tobio, but lately Tobio has been bogged down with volleyball and Kenma hasn’t had the motivation to come down here alone.

The danger room’s simulations are hardly more dangerous than a paintball game. It’s easy enough to pick up a few bruises on the higher levels, but the holographic blades and so called lasers hardly pack a punch. On the other hand, the plasterboard-like targets it sets up are more than satisfying to punch, especially now that Kenma’s hand goes through them like tissue paper.

Tetsurou takes a step back to let Kenma rage for a good few minutes, sitting on the floor and trying to toss each of his cards into the same area before they blow up. He looks nonchalant, like he’s barely even looking at Kenma, but the second Kenma finds that his random punching is growing directionless and distressing, Tetsurou is at his side.

“Timing,” he murmurs. “We should try to sync our timing.”

“Doing what?” Kenma grunts.

“We were getting pretty good at a smokescreen sort of thing,” Tetsurou says. “I’ll try to get a card to blow up halfway to a target and you can try to punch the target while the smoke is still in the air.”

Kenma rolls his eyes, but he knows Tetsurou is right. Doing something repetitive and just a little challenging is what he needs right now.

The first time they try, the timing is entirely off and Kenma just gets a face full of smoke. But tens of times later, Kenma feels like he’s  finally getting it right. He’s also entirely out of breath and frustrated with the errors he’s starting to see more and more clearly as they draw closer to perfect.

He sits down, huffing out a sigh. “I’m tired,” he says.

“Feeling any better?” Tetsurou asks.

“I guess,” Kenma mutters. At least he doesn’t feel so damn angry about everything. His powers. Moving. Lack of sex. Tetsurou becoming a serious adult. He looks up at Tetsurou. “We should go to bed. You’ve got an early morning tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Tetsurou says, reaching out his arms for Kenma to grab on. “I’m getting kind of excited.” He pulls Kenma to his feet. 

“You’re going to be great,” Kenma says.

“Damn, I hope so,” Tetsurou says,wrapping his arm around Kenma’s shoulders as they walk back to the room.  “I have a reputation to keep up, you know.”

“Trust me, your reputation is way worse than you,” Kenma says, smiling slowly. With Tetsurou’s arm around him, he feels better already.

“T-thanks?” Tetsurou says. “I can’t tell if that was a compliment or not.”

Kenma just smirks, wrapping his arm around Tetsurou’s waist and dragging him along. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week: Tooru!!!!!!!
> 
> I've honestly forgotten what else happened in the chapter that I, personally, wrote with my own two hands because god I missed him.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tooru starts laughing over the fumbling, which seems a good sign, but he’s still crying. Koutarou stares up at him, waiting for him to say what’s wrong. “My room,” Tooru moans finally, sounding like a child with a scraped knee, more baffled and shocked by the pain than actually in pain, still laughing a little. “You’re taking my room.”
> 
> “Geh?” Koutarou blurts, sitting back on his heels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe I finished this on time, holy crap. T_T

Keiji sighs as he presses the phone to his ear. Koutarou wonders if Keiji had many plans for what his life would look like when he was planning his escape from his captors, and how a little Keiji might have reacted if Koutarou went back and informed him he had a long future ahead of him hanging on the phone with a veterinarian to ask about his boyfriend.

“Hello, Yachi-san. Should Koutarou be… shedding?” Keiji asks, slowly and carefully, avoiding Kenma’s glare as he stares him down from his own bed, arms crossed.

He’s covered in the feathers floating everywhere, and is not at all happy about it.

“Exactly… how much should he be shedding?” Keiji continues, then after a while says, “Thank you, Yachi-san.”

They say their goodbyes and hang up. “She says it’s normal,” he informs Kenma. “He should be growing flight feathers soon, probably at an increased pace. The shedding should even out in the next few days.”

In response, Kenma huffs, sending a little bit of feather that was resting on his hair drifting into his nose, and then sneezes. Perhaps it’s the glare that goes with it, but it is without a doubt the angriest sneeze Koutarou has ever witnessed.

“Sorry, Kenma,” Koutarou moans. He’s trying his best not to flap his wings in case he sends another flurry of feathers everywhere, but his brain hasn’t quite figured out how to move the wings, though at the very least it seems to be figuring out how to feel them. Earlier they had just felt like an extra tingly itchy that extended into the air in a way that gave him a headache.

The wings are about as long as his forearms by now, though they still look scraggly, coated in mottled grey and white down feathers. The shedding started the night before last, and already it has taken off alarmingly fast. Keiji’s bed is covered in feathers, and rest of the feathers drift about the room like snow.

Kenma has been sneezing all morning, but Keiji…

… Keiji, now that he’s off the phone, looks like he’s never been happier.

“You’re terrible,” Kenma mutters at him.

Koutarou’s wings flutter in a way that manages to unbalance him even while sitting and send the feathers on Keiji’s bed flying. Keiji looks at Kenma as he raises a hand into the air to stroke the feathers. “Fluffy,” he counters, voice on the verge of a giggle.

Kenma does his best to cover Keiji’s entire face with his hand, pushing him away. “Don’t look at me like that while I’m trying to be mad,” he mutters, almost inaudible over his blush.

Keiji just grins into his hand.

“Guys I’m scared to breathe,” Koutarou whispers. “Everything I do just makes more feathers.”

“I’ll get a vacuum cleaner,” Kenma says.

“No!” Keiji cries, grabbing a pillow with which to cover Kenma’s head before he tackles him to the ground. Or at least tries to. Kenma, obviously, doesn’t budge, forcing Keiji to wrap the pillow around his head for a steadier grip so he can get his legs around Kenma’s arms. “Grab his legs, we can take him down together!” Keiji cries.

Koutarou cocks his head at him. “A vacuum cleaner seems like a good idea, though,” he says. The feathers are _everywhere._

“I am not surrendering a single one of those feathers!” Keiji snaps.

Kenma sighs and makes to walk out of the room, Keiji in tow. “I guess,” Koutarou says, and darts after them to grab Kenma’s legs.

“You pull forward and I’ll lean back,” Keiji says.

Kenma’s shoulders slump, but he stops and stands still, letting Koutarou brace himself against the bed and pull at his legs while Keiji leans as far back as he can. He doesn’t so much as sway. “How strong _are_ you?” Keiji cries.

“Very,” Kenma mutters. “Also I have a sensitive nose so if you would _please let me…”_

“No!” Keiji cries.

Kenma lets out another grumpy sneeze. “Oh my gods, Keiji,” he grumbles.

It’s roughly at that point that Tetsurou opens the door and stops short, staring at them. All three of them freeze. “So I guess the shedding got worse while I was at work?” he asks, finally.

“Kuro,” Kenma pleads, holding up his arms helplessly.

“Keiji, why are you smothering Kenma with a pillow?” Tetsurou asks.

“He wants to steal my feathers!” Keiji snaps.

“I want to clean this ungodly mess up,” Kenma sighs.

“ _Ungodly?”_ Keiji cries.

“I honestly don’t know what’s going on, I’m just doing what Keiji says,” Koutarou volunteers.

“Sheesh,” Tetsurou sighs, stepping over to grab Keiji around the waist. “I swear, you children…”

“Kuro, you’re not even the oldest of us,” Kenma says.

“Alright,” Tetsurou says, gently tugging Keiji away. “You can’t just live in a feather cloud.”

“I can and I will,” Keiji says, clinging tighter.

“You can keep the feathers you can gather _neatly_ ,” Tetsurou says.

Keiji pauses. “Fine.”

“Kenma, get the vacuum cleaner with the nozzle and hose so we can be precise,” he continues.

“Fine,” Kenma grits out.

“Kou…” Tetsurou says, looking down with a sigh. “Really?”

Koutarou lets go of Kenma’s legs and sits up from where he’s been laying on his stomach, one elbow braced around the bed. “Sorry,” he says. The wings flutter, unbidden, and another flurry of feathers fills the room. Kenma stomps out with a grumble.

“You’re being rather confident,” Keiji says, once Tetsurou has set him down on the bed. “Feeling better finally.”

Tetsurou sinks back onto Kenma’s bed. “Yeah,” he says. “I’m exhausted, but… I actually feel like I can do this shit, you know?”

Keiji looks like he almost says something sharp and teasing, but at the last moment he thinks better of it. He must notice as well that though Tetsurou does look better, he also looks bone tired. “Need anything?” he asks instead.

“A massage, a hot meal and several hugs,” Tetsurou says, with a tired smirk. “And fifteen hours of sleep.” He falls back with a small _oof_.

Koutarou crawls up onto the bed beside him and gently rubs his belly with a smile that’s as soft as his feathers. “See, Tetsu?” he grins. “You’re great.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tetsurou mutters, blushing hard. “Stop making a big deal out of it you dumb bird.”

The quiet, relax moment that flickers between them is interrupted abruptly by Kenma returning with the vacuum cleaner, igniting a fiery tension between him and Keiji.

“They’re going to kill each other, aren’t they?” Tetsurou sighs.

“Yeah probably,” Koutarou says.

Tetsurou groans and sits up. “You two behave, alright?” he says. “I had to pull a screw driver out of a man’s thigh today and I’m not gonna try to deal with you two if you start a deathmatch with a vacuum cleaner.”

“Stay away from my bed,” Keiji growls.

“Fine,” Kenma hisses back.

“Close enough,” Tetsurou sighs, crawling up onto the bed fully and face planting into Kenma’s pillows.

“You want that massage?” Koutarou offers.

“I would die for it,” Tetsurou mumbles into the pillows, moaning at the first rub of Koutarou’s hands up his spine. “Gods, I fucking love you.”

Behind them, Keiji quietly kicks Kenma in the knee for getting too close to the bed, but Tetsurou doesn’t even bother scolding them again.

-X-

Within the next few days, Koutarou’s wings grow long enough that even folded above his shoulders, they stretch past his elbows. Koutarou would be happy, since they’re starting to look like real, serious wings, but they’re also…

… well…

… spiky.

They look ridiculous, and Koutarou is terrified that Keiji will be sad.

Keiji seems to be taking it well, though. Possibly it’s because he has several pillowcases full of Koutarou’s old down feathers, or because there’s still a good amount of down feathers among the spiky, pin-like feathers, but Keiji takes the transformation in stride, still spending all his free time sitting behind Koutarou and stroking his wings. To be fair, though, he’s being more careful about it now, fingers sliding into the feathers to find as much down as possible.

“Is that uncomfortable?” Keiji asks, at some point, probably because Koutarou is making a face at the stroking.

“Dunno yet,” Koutarou replies. It’s true enough. His brain isn’t sure _what_ his wings feel like. “Keep trying?”

Keiji snorts, but he keeps stroking, one finger at a time, while Koutarou sticks his tongue out, biting down on it softly to startle his brain into focusing. He furrows his brow, trying to focus on the sensation of Keiji’s fingers.

Keiji laughs, suddenly. “You’re going cross-eyed,” he says, fingers skating under the wings to bury themselves in the downier parts under Koutarou’s armpit.

“It feels weird!” Koutarou whines.

“Should I stop?” Keiji asks.

“No, it’s not bad, I just… I didn’t have any wings and now I have wings and I don’t know how to feel ‘em!” Koutarou rubs at his face. “It’s like… like when your leg goes numb and then comes back but it’s not.”

“Well, no doubt it will take some time to adjust to having a new set of limbs,” Keiji says softly. He’s quiet for a while, fingers floating through the wings until Koutarou is almost used to the sensation. It almost feels like his wings are a part of him finally. “They complicate things.”

“Hm?” Koutarou asks, managing to twitch his wings on purpose.

“The wings,” Keiji says. “They complicate things.”

“How come?” Koutarou asks, letting Keiji pet at the feathers absently.

“You should be careful about being seen. You know what people are like with mutants…” He trails off for a moment, then continues. “If these wings grow any further you won’t be able to hide them under a jacket.”

“Oh,” Koutarou says. He hadn’t thought of that.

“Perhaps for the time being you should move in here. You’re staying in our room every night anyway,” Keiji says. “We can… we can discuss moving out together when your wings have finished growing.”

Koutarou suddenly can’t think of anything to say. What if his wings end up so big he can’t go outside without making sure no one is around to see? It seems like an upsetting thought, yet at the moment he doesn’t feel upset. It’s just starting to feel nice to have Keiji pet his wings. “Hm,” he says. “Ok.”

“Is that ok?” Keiji murmurs.

“Not sure yet,” Koutarou says. “But I don’t mind moving in here. I like it here.”

“Alright,” Keiji says, and then they both go silent.

-X-

It’s Tooru who breaks the silence.

Or rather, who shakes things into some kind of actual feeling instead of the detached sort bewilderment that Koutarou feels about actually _living_ at the Institute.

He waits until Koutarou’s things are already moved into the room, still in assorted boxes that Kenma and Tetsurou did their best to pack logically for Koutarou. Even then, he shows up late, when the house is sleepy and quiet, drifting into their doorway.

Koutarou can tell right away something is wrong. Tooru looks tired, but not the sort of tired he usually is, the tired that comes from the process of recovery. He looks tired in a sickly way, like he’s sliding back into something old and troublesome. “Can we talk, Kou-chan?” he rasps.

Koutarou nods, trotting after Tooru and into the backyard.

“Is everything ok?” Koutarou asks.

Tooru stares at him and promptly starts crying.

Koutarou flails, suddenly forgetting every word he’s ever known as he searches for something comforting to say. He’s not sure if a hug will help or just make things worse, but as he flails the wings start flapping too, and he nearly falls into Tooru’s lap face first, catching himself at the last minute.

Tooru starts laughing over the fumbling, which seems a good sign, but he’s still crying. Koutarou stares up at him, waiting for him to say what’s wrong. “My _room,_ ” Tooru moans finally, sounding like a child with a scraped knee, more baffled and shocked by the pain than actually in pain, still laughing a little. “You’re taking my _room_.”

“Geh?” Koutarou blurts, sitting back on his heels.

“I mean I’m not going to move back into it, I’m fucking _married_ ,” Tooru continues, laughing over himself now, even as his sniffles grow stronger and the tears start dripping down his face. “But it’s _mine_ and you’re taking it.”

Koutarou cocks his head, thoroughly bewildered. “Should I move into a different room?” he asks.

“ _No_ ,” Tooru scoffs, rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his hands. “No, calm down.” He looks at Koutarou and chuckles, and Koutarou notices his feathers rising. He tries to shuffle them back down, but he doesn’t know how to do that yet. “It’s just… I _hate_ it. I know it makes sense for you to move in with Keiji and Kenma and I know I don’t need the room, but it was still _mine_ and now it’s _not._ ”

Koutarou looks away to frown at the ground.

“I hate it,” Tooru says, suddenly growing quiet and collapsing in on himself. “I don’t want you to do anything about it, I just wanted to say something so it doesn’t fester and become something like… like with Tobio.”

Koutarou looks back up at that. “Tobio?”

Tooru pulls his knees in close. “His parents loved him,” he says, and Koutarou can tell, somehow, from his voice, that this is something he’s been very frightened to say. “His parents loved him before they died and I was so jealous and was so ashamed of being jealous I let it fester and… and after a while I just despised h-him and…”

His arms come up around his head as he curls forward with a choked off sound. There’s a pain in that little sound that shakes Koutarou out of his confusion, drawing him forward to wrap himself around Tooru. This is definitely a hugging situation.

“I h-hated an orphan because his p-parents loved him before they died and it was… it was a-awful and I’m so upset about my _room_ and I just… I just don’t want to be awful again,” Tooru grits out.

“It’s ok,” Koutarou says. _It’s not about the room_ , he tries to think, but the guilt is getting to him anyway. He cringes when he realizes that Tooru can probably hear him struggling with it. He holds him a little tighter to make up for it as Tooru shakes through his tears.

Eventually, Tooru’s breathing evens out and he slumps against Koutarou, but the mounting guilt in Koutarou’s chest doesn’t go away. “I’m sorry,” he says.

Tooru shakes his head. When that doesn’t have any effect, he grabs Koutarou’s wrist. “It’s not about the room,” he says, quietly. “I just… I get scared by the idea that when I come to the Institute it won’t be home anymore.”

He squeezes on Koutarou’s wrist gently, and slowly the haze of guilt recedes.

“I’ll probably be sleeping in Keiji’s bed anyway,” Koutarou says. “You can always sleep in your old bed if you want.”

Tooru laughs. “I won’t need to,” he says. “I don’t need the room, I just…”

“Yeah,” Koutarou says. “I get it. After my parents kicked me out I lived at Tetsu’s place and… well. I had this blanket, right? It was one of the few things that was really _mine_ , you know, ‘cause I had a lot of siblings, and after I lost my parents and my home I was really attached to that blanket, and one day Tetsu was studying on it, ‘cause we shared a room and all, and he broke a pen on it.”

Tooru is quiet. He probably already read the end of the story, because Koutarou can still see it in front of himself as though it’d happened yesterday. But he keeps talking, because this is more of an exchange of trust than an exchange of secrets.

“Anyway I know he felt really, really bad, but man, that blanket meant a lot to me and I just freaked. Nearly broke his nose. And he was a really scrawny kid too so he looked like a train hit him for a week.”

The worst part of it is that he’d found Tetsurou frantically trying to wash out the blanket in the bathroom. No, the worst part of it is that Koutarou’s still more upset about the blanket than Tetsurou’s terrified apologies.

There’s a long, long silence, Tooru rubbing his nose into Koutarou’s shoulder. “You horrified?” Koutarou asks.

“Are you?” Tooru asks.

“Huh?”

“About how I despised an orphan child?”

“Nah,” Koutarou says. “No offense but it makes you sound more like a scared kid than some kind of monster like you probably think.”

Tooru laughs at that. “I guess you’re right,” he says. “Your dark secrets aren’t so bad either. What’s one dumb punch against all the love you pour into everyone these days?”

“Hah,” Koutarou says, sitting back. “Tetsu had me carrying his backpack to class for weeks.”

“Just like him to take advantage of a situation like that,” Tooru says with a smirk.

Koutarou smiles. “I bet he still thinks I didn’t notice he did it for me.”

“I’m sorry,” Tooru whispers. “For panicking, for dumping it on you, I…”

Koutarou sniffles, suddenly finding himself crying too. A part of him wants to yell, wants to throw it back into Tooru’s face that he’s being unreasonable. But whether it’s because he still has the memory of his worst tantrum in the forefront of his mind or just because it’s Tooru, who has been through enough lately, Koutarou manages to take a breath and remember it’s easier just to cry it out.

Tooru isn’t asking him to do anything but listen and care. Everything is fine.

“It’s alright, I’m glad you said something,” Koutarou manages, even though he’s still bawling like a baby. Tooru presses his face into Koutarou’s side, hugging him around the waist. “Or I will be glad, when I’ve cried it out.”

Tooru laughs at that, and waits for Koutarou to stop crying and catch his breath. Indeed, now that he’s gotten it out of his system, the guilt has escaped from his chest and everything feels solved. Tooru is ok, just a little scared. “You’re always gonna have a home here,” Koutarou says. “I promise. We’re family.”

Tooru nods. “Yeah,” he says, smiling. “You’re right. That’s what I needed to hear.”

There’s an odd silence, filled by the sudden lack of festering, building emotions that they’ve just set loose.

“By the way, Kou-chan,” Tooru says, after a long time. “Your wings look ridiculous.”

Koutarou blinks down at him for a moment, and then the usual feelings surge back into the hole left by that guilt and upset that had lingered here a moment ago, and Koutarou straightens up, painfully offended. “Yachi says they’re gonna open up into real feathers!” he blurts. “And they’ll probably get a lot bigger too and they’ll be awesome! You’ll see!”

“But look at them now!” Tooru giggles, patting the spiky feathers playfully. “They’re hideous!”

“You’re just jealous because you know how cool they’re gonna look soon!”

Tooru just laughs harder at that, and Koutarou ends up laughing with him. They both look and sound ridiculous, covered in tears and snot and unable to stop laughing.

Eventually, Tooru manages to sit up. “I should go home,” he says. “Hajime is probably waiting for me.” He tries to stand, but quickly sits back down.

“You ok?” Koutarou asks.

Tooru nods, but he looks sort of queasy. “I’ve worn myself out,” he says. “I don’t think I can walk.”

“You want me to take you home?”

Tooru shakes his head, pulling out his phone. “I’d rather have Hajime come get me.”

“Ok,” Koutarou says, sitting back down beside Tooru. “You still ok?”

Tooru nods. “I hate getting shaky like this, but yes, I think I’m fine,” he says. “Actually I feel… I feel a lot better than usual.”

“Crying is good for you,” Koutarou offers, bringing his knees up.

Tooru laughs, looking up at the stars, and for a moment he looks oddly transcendental, something beyond the realm of human. “I guess so,” he says, and then he’s back to being entirely real, just Iwaizumi Tooru, sitting in the grass next to Koutarou.

He gives the hedge a sidelong look, smirking over something. Koutarou frowns. “What?” he asks.

“Nothing,” Tooru says. “At least nothing important for now.”

Koutarou blinks at him. “Huh?”

Tooru waves him away, and they fall silent again. Tooru lays back into the grass, going quiet, occasionally reaching up to pat Koutarou’s wing and laugh. Koutarou just sits with him, trying to determine what it is that has Tooru flickering between human and something entirely different. He feels a little like someone in a fairy story.

Hajime arrives quickly, but he doesn’t seem concerned when he sees Tooru. “Wore yourself out, huh?” he asks.

“Hajime,” Tooru says blearily. “Did you know I hated Tobio because his parents loved him.”

“Yeah,” Hajime says. “You’re a jealous little shit, what else is new?”

“You’re not horrified?” Tooru says, looking thoroughly exhausted.

“No,” Hajime says. “Come on, bedtime for you.”

“I can’t get up,” Tooru whispers. “I needed all my energy to tell you my dark secrets and now I can’t get up.”

“Stupid,” Hajime says, pulling Tooru into his arms with an incredible softness. “I already know your secrets and they’re not that bad. I can’t believe you knocked yourself out over this.”

“Stop scolding me, I’m vulnerable and helpless,” Tooru whines as Hajime lifts him. “I’ll cry!”

“Cry all you want, you’re still an idiot,” Hajime says, but he’s backing down, as evidenced by the kiss he plants on Tooru’s forehead. “G’night, Bokuto.”

“‘Night,” Koutarou says. Seeing the Iwaizumis together like this has something clicking in his chest and suddenly all he wants to do is be back with Keiji.

He watches Hajime carry Tooru away and then drags himself up the stairs, only to collapse on top of Keiji. “Everything alright?” Keiji asks.

“Yeah,” Koutarou mutters.

Keiji twists around as well as he can, scratching behind Koutarou’s ear. “What did Oi-Tooru want?”

“I think he just freaked about his room not being technically his anymore,” Koutarou says. “I think it’s scary for him to think that maybe he wouldn’t have a place here someday. But I think I calmed him down.”

“Was he angry with you?” Keiji asks.

“Not really,” Koutarou sighs, flopping over so he’s lying perpendicular to Keiji’s waist, arms and wings outstretched. “I guess I felt kinda guilty for a while but I think I just got caught up in him crying. I dunno, I feel kinda weird.”

“Weird how?” Keiji says, trying his best to keep looking at Koutarou as he lies behind him.

“I guess it’s just… Tooru is kind of… you know, he just makes people feel things anyway, and then we were crying shit out and then that sort of took care of everything. But I guess I still feel weird about moving in here, but I don’t think it’s because of Tooru?”

“Then how come?”

“I guess ‘cause it’s always been something I was looking at from the outside, you know? I’ve never really had a lot of places I called home but the Institute would have been a place that maybe I wanted to, but I always knew it wasn’t for me and now I’m moving in.”

Keiji shifts up a little. “You hardly ever talk about yourself as a child,” he murmurs.

Koutarou laughs. “I like things better now, so I don’t wanna look back,” he says. He chews at his lip. “I don’t know. I guess I’m happy we’re living together, but it doesn’t feel like mine.”

“Hm,” Keiji says with a small sigh. “Well, I’m glad you’re living here. And if anything, it makes more sense for you to live here than any of us, with those wings. Not sure you’ll even be able to go out in public anymore very easily.” He frowns as he says it, biting at his lip.

Koutarou looks up at him and smiles. “That’s fine. Other than Tetsurou, I got everything I need right here.”

Keiji sighs. “Don’t worry. We’ll find our own home soon. We’ll just have to modify our apartment search a little.”

Koutarou grins. “Yeah,” he says. “Sounds good.”

-X-

Two days later, looking as well rested as ever, Tooru returns.

“Alright, so I know there was no harm done but I feel really bad for being weird about stuff earlier,” he says, the second he’s in the door.

“It’s f…” Koutarou starts, but Tooru is faster than he is and manages to cut him off quickly.

“I know. I know it’s fine, but… look. I’ve been in physical therapy before and the whole…” He waves his hands, suddenly looking a little queasy. “I mean… look, all I’m saying is that I’m pretty good with the whole… relearning how to use limbs thing, and I can see in your head to feel how you’re going about it, so I thought I might try to help you with learning how to use your wings, right?”

“Sure,” Koutarou says. “I guess.”

“Great,” Tooru says, flopping back onto the sofa. “So um…” He waves his arms again. “Go for it. Try to move them.”

Koutarou plops down onto the floor in front of him, furrowing his brow and trying to stretch out his wings. Tooru leans forward, eyes narrowed as he tries to follow the sensations.

Koutarou manages a halfhearted flutter.

“Mm,” Tooru says. “Ok, wait, hold on.” He bounces up and takes the wings in his hands, pinning one down and gently guiding the other into extending. “Try focusing on how that feels.”

Koutarou does his best, but Tooru shakes his head. “Focus on the… like, the joints and the muscles. How it _feels_.” He slowly presses the wing back into a bent position, then guides it back out. It feels strange, a flurry of input that shouldn’t be there, all the feathers and touches and movement…

Koutarou turns his head back and watches the elbow like joint that’s moving and tries to focus on that. He can feel it, somewhere in all that input, but it’s hard to focus on as Tooru guides it through the motions.

Slowly, though, Koutarou feels like he’s getting the hang of it.

“Ok, try doing it yourself,” Tooru says, letting go of the one wing while still pushing down the other.

Koutarou bites down on his tongue but he focuses on the wing and does his best to extend it. The motion isn’t as clean as he’d meant it, more of a flailing in more or less that direction, smacking Tooru in the face as he does.

Tooru shoves the wing away with a laugh, but he gives Koutarou a thumbs up. Koutarou grins at him proudly. “Pretty great, huh?”

“Incredible, Kou-chan,” Tooru says, only halfway sarcastic about it. “Though maybe try it without smacking me in the face this time?”

Koutarou sticks his tongue out, but he sloppily folds the wing again and thrusts it back out with a little less of a chaotic spin. “Ok, wait, hold on, I think I got it this time…” he says, folding it again.

They keep practicing for hours, Tooru correcting him when he gets unfocused and working him through different motions.

“I think I’ve got to quit for today,” Tooru says, finally, sounding exhausted.

Koutarou blinks back at him, taking a moment to register the words after being so focused for so long. Tooru is rubbing at his temple, but more importantly, he’s got the beginnings of a nosebleed. “Aw, man, you should have said something sooner,” Koutarou says, reaching forward to pinch Tooru’s nose.

“Oh,” Tooru says. “Is it bleeding? It does that sometimes.”

“Man, you shouldn’t push yourself,” Koutarou says.

“I’m not!” Tooru insists. “It just started hurting! I think it’s just weird trying to read the feeling you get from limbs I don’t even have.”

“Well, I’ll get it from here,” Koutarou says. “I think you helped enough.”

“I can still help,” Tooru says with a pout. “Honest, I’ll just try not to read your wings so much.”

Koutarou squints at him.

“Pleaaaase?” Tooru says. “I hate being left out of everything because everyone thinks I’m too weak or reckless for it. I’ll be careful, honest!”

“Pinky swear?” Koutarou asks suspiciously.

Tooru’s hand bounces up, his eyes eager. “Pinky swear,” he says.

Koutarou takes Tooru’s pinky in his own. Hand to hand like this, Koutarou can feel the trembling in Tooru’s hands, but he just smiles. Tooru knows best how feeble he is, so at the end of the day it’s Tooru who has to decide how much he can handle. “Alright,” he says. “But no more nosebleeds!”

Tooru nods. “I’ll be super extra careful!” he says, face earnest.

Koutarou sits back, grinning as he lets go of Tooru’s hand.

Tooru sets his hands back on his knees. “Thank you,” he says. “I know I’m fragile but I can’t live my life in a box.”

Koutarou nods. He can see how it might be exhausting to be as overprotected as Tooru, even if it is warranted. “Wanna try helping without reading my wings for a bit?” he offers.

“How about I talk you through it while lying down? I’m getting woozy again,” Tooru says, with a shaky smile.

“Sure,” Koutarou says, steadying Tooru as he guides him to the sofa, lifting him when he sees his legs shaking. He lets Tooru get comfortable, then sits back. “Anyway I think I need to practice the shoulder movements.”

Tooru’s smile is soft and bleary, but he nods. “See if you can hunch your wings, I guess. Press them forward like…” he starts, quietly coaching Koutarou and laughing with Koutarou over the jokes Koutarou makes until the sun goes down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week: Bo attempts to fly. Fukurodani attempt a kidnapping. Neither goes very well.
> 
> Also just a heads up: I'm missing, like... 2-3 scenes from next chapter and I'm a little swamped so I may miss next week. As always, I am trying to post on time but... life happens, my friends. Life happens so much.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s a moment in which he thinks he might actually be flying, and then the pad hits him in the face as he strikes it hard enough to bounce and tumble all the way across the floor, wings flailing.
> 
> “Are you alright?” Keiji calls after him once he’s skidded to a stop, wing in his face.
> 
> It takes Koutarou several tries to sit up because he’s somehow managed to wrap himself in his own wings and arms and he’s not sure where any of them are, really, but he grins at Keiji when he does. “Yeah! I wanna try again!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohhhhhhh look at that I'm posting early WITH my beta's permission this time. Dang. 
> 
> Also thank you to fxvixen for dragging me through this chapter despite the fact that some of my missing scene markers were literally [PLEASE FIX THIS]. I am so tired.
> 
> Anyway, as the semester ends and exam period begins I will probably start posting Mondays.

“Ok, spread ‘em,” Yachi says.

Keiji blinks in a decidedly scandalized way. Koutarou wonders, for a moment, if she doesn’t so much as pause saying it because she doesn’t realize how it sounds or because she’s used to saying it. She seems to read his hesitation for exactly what it is because she sighs. “Koutarou-kun,” she says, severely.

Her hair is tied up and she looks focused and professional, not at all nervous. It’s sort of fascinating to see.

Koutarou scrunches his nose and does his best to extend his wings. Moving them intentionally is still weird, but it feels more like moving a knee that’s been bent too long than trying to move something that isn’t supposed to move. The movements are choppy and sort of strained, but he manages to get his wings outstretched all the way.

He has to lean forward a little and hold on to a chair to keep his balance with his wings spread like this.

Yachi tosses the end of her tape measure to Keiji, who holds it at the tip of Koutarou’s left wing while Yachi pulls it taught. “Alright,” she says. “So right now you’ve got a wingspan of about…” She pauses for a moment, calculating. “5.6 meters. Guessing from the feathers and how fast you’ve been growing, you’ll probably end up with a wingspan of 7 meters.”

“Holy shit,” Koutarou blurts. “Can I fly?”

“Probably,” Yachi says.

“How do you get on the roof?” Koutarou cries, straightening up. In his excitement he forgets his wings are extended and they give a massive, reflexive flap, nearly sweeping Yachi off her feet and sending Keiji stumbling into the nearest chair.

“I think,” Keiji says, with a long sigh, “that perhaps you should wait until you can reliably make it up stairs before you go jumping off of roofs.”

“Aw man, but I wanna flyyy,” Koutarou whines.

Keiji has a point, though. Stairs have not been Koutarou’s friend lately. The wings have been growing in slowly enough that Koutarou’s had a few weeks to get used to the new weight on his back, true, but he feels it most when going up stairs. And unfortunately, it doesn’t take much unbalancing to get his wings flapping, which generally has him slamming his wings into the walls hard enough to have him careening down the stairs.

Of course, maybe the problem is mostly that Koutarou is used to taking the stairs two at a time, which makes it easy enough to fall down them given his newfound balance issues.

“You can practice in the Danger Room,” Keiji sighs. “From small heights.”

“But wouldn’t it be cooler from…”

“No,” Keiji says, before Koutarou can even finish his thought.

“Keijiiiii,” Koutarou whines. His feathers ruffle in discontent and his wing comes up unbidden to smack Keiji in the face. Keiji puts his hands up just in time to only get a mouthful of his feathers rather than a crack in the nose.

“Keiji’s right,” Kenma says, entering the room at a safe distance, eyeing the wings warily. “You might be getting slightly close to controlling those wings but I don’t think you should be trying to jump from any large heights.”

Koutarou sits down and huffs. “I bet my wings would know how to fly automatically,” he huffs.

“I’m not so sure, Koutarou-kun,” Yachi says. “Birds need to learn how to fly too!”

Koutarou huffs again and his feathers echo it. “Fine,” he says. “Then I wanna try from a foot stool or something, I guess.”

“I think we can manage that,” Keiji says, waving him up. “Come on.”

Koutarou bounces to his feet. He’s never been in the Danger Room before, but it sure sounds cool, and it’s exciting to be considered a part of the Institute enough to be shown the cool rooms.

Kenma lets him pass and follows once his wings are out of range.

“Hey Kenma,” Koutarou asks. “You think if we touched you’d just get my eyes and shit or would you grow wings in a few seconds.”

“I don’t know,” Kenma sighs, shoulders hunched.

“Dang,” Koutarou says. “It’d probably hurt to grow wings in a few seconds.”

“I know. That’s why I’m keeping my distance,” Kenma mutters.

“Huh,” Koutarou says, bounding after Keiji as he starts down the stairs. He only stumbles and smacks his wings into the walls twice. Still, Kenma stands and glares down at him from the top of the stairs until he’s all the way to the bottom, only then daring to start down them himself.

The Danger Room is massive and sort of terrifying, with metal panels along the walls and an array of lasers embedded into the corners. Koutarou finds himself shivering as he looks around. Somehow he can’t help but feel that this place was built with a very specific type of practice in mind.

While he’s caught up in wondering what the history behind the room might be, Kenma fiddles with something in the wall, and several of the panels fold out of the wall, startling Koutarou as they form into a small ledge. He starts back, losing his balance and ending up on his ass on the floor, his wings landing repeatedly in Keiji’s face as he impulsively grabs for his knee.

Keiji sighs, spitting out a wayward feather. “There,” he says. “You can try flying from there.”

“Oh,” Koutarou says. He leaps to his feet. “Right!” He looks up at the ledge, which is only just shorter than him. He blinks at Keiji. “Help me up?”

Keiji sighs again, but he gets down on one knee, lacing his fingers together into a step for Koutarou. As a thank you, Koutarou manages to flap a wing in his face as he climbs up.

“Ok,” Koutarou says, once he’s up. He stands slowly, wobbling a little as his wings search for balance.

“Um,” Yachi says. “Maybe we should give him something soft to land on.”

“Hold on,” Kenma says, slipping outside. He returns a moment later with a large pad under his arm, sliding it in front of the ledge. He eyes Koutarou, taking in the lunge-like pose he’s adopting, and tugs it out a little further. He then backs away as far as he can. “Alright, go for it.”

Koutarou settles back into the lunge, and then takes a step forward pushing off of the ledge with a powerful flap of his wings.

There’s a moment in which he thinks he might actually be flying, and then the pad hits him in the face as he strikes it hard enough to bounce and tumble all the way across the floor, wings flailing.

“Are you alright?” Keiji calls after him once he’s skidded to a stop, wing in his face.

It takes Koutarou several tries to sit up because he’s somehow managed to wrap himself in his own wings and arms and he’s not sure where any of them are, really, but he grins at Keiji when he does. “Yeah! I wanna try again!”

“I’m getting more pads,” Kenma mutters, but Koutarou is already nearly vaulting up onto the ledge, Keiji barely managing to give him a leg up in time.

-X-

“I think I stayed up for at least five seconds that last time,” Koutarou says, rubbing at a bruise on his ribs from smacking into the wall after those five seconds. It’s been several hours, and Yachi has long since gone home, but he’s still just as eager to keep trying.

“Stay _still_ ,” Keiji says with a grimace, as he smoothes out Koutarou’s messy feathers.

“You’ll get it eventually,” Kenma murmurs.

“Yeah!” Koutarou cries, and in his excitement he forgets that Keiji’s hands are on his wings and nearly lifts him into a wall with a strong flap. “Sorry,” he squeaks, but Keiji just gives him a vaguely dirty look and continues arranging his feathers. Koutarou lets him finish, then attempts to dash back to the ledge.

“I’m gonna try again!” he cries.

“ _No,”_ Keiji says, pulling him back with a firm grip on his ear. “You’re covered in bruises, and it’s well past time to go to bed.”

“But Keijiiii,” he moans. “I’ve almost got it!”

“You glided for five seconds,” Kenma mutters.

“But that’s _almost_ …” Koutarou tries, but Keiji shakes his head.

“ _I_ want to go to bed,” Keiji sighs.

Koutarou pouts at him. “Fine,” he mutters. Keiji lets go of his ear, and Koutarou makes another run for it. Keiji tackles him not two steps later, and the desperate flapping that ensues lifts both of them off the ground for a moment. They both stop, blinking, until Koutarou cries, “Whoa! That was almost flying!”

Keiji uses his moment of starry eyed wonder to topple him off his feet and sit on his chest. “Bed,” he demands. “I want to sleep and I want a feather blanket.”

-X-

Koutarou wakes a few hours later to find Keiji fast asleep in his arms. He smiles, planting a kiss on his forehead, and tries to fall back asleep, but after a few minutes he can already tell it’s not going to happen. The darkness feels too bright right now, and Koutarou sort of needs to go to the bathroom.

He sits up, careful to slide Keiji off his arm and pull his wing out without waking him. Keiji mumbles something in his sleep, but rolls over and goes still again.

Koutarou tiptoes out of the room, slowly, so he doesn’t forget to keep his wings close to his back to make sure they don’t knock anything over.

He manages to slip out of the room quietly and plod down to the bathroom to do his business. He yawns on the way back, letting his feathers flutter a little as he walks.

He almost clambers right back into Keiji’s bed, but as he tiptoes past Kenma’s bed, he pauses and squints. Upon closer inspection, he finds that his intuition is correct. Kenma’s bed is, in fact, empty, even though Kenma was in bed _earlier_.

Koutarou squints at the bed a little longer, then tiptoes back out the door, shutting it carefully.

He checks the kitchen, in case Kenma is just looking for a midnight snack, but it’s dark and empty as well.

He turns to try the Danger Room, but before he can he hears a small thump from the back hallway. He tries to see what it could be from, but there’s nothing. He waits for another noise, but there’s only silence.

After a moment, he tries to creep closer, and as he does, there’s another thump.

It’s clearer this time where it’s from, right outside the window to the back yard. Koutarou creeps into the back hallway and peers out the window. There are two figures there that he can see, fiddling with the window latch.

Koutarou hurries to the other end of the living room, quietly unlatching the screen door and slipping outside.

From this angle, he can see four figures, and one of them he recognizes. Standing behind the two trying to break in through the window is the tall figure he’d seen just before getting knocked out in the sewer.

Frowning, he steps closer, but it seems that he’s finally managed to get too close, because the tall figure turns to look at him. He toes at one of the burglars back, and they look up, drawing all four pairs of eyes to Koutarou.

A moment ticks by, and none of them attack, so Koutarou decides it’s up to him to start things off.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” responds one of the burglars. Even in the dark, he’s wearing a pair of sunglasses. His skin is peeling slightly, and he’s wearing a snakeskin pattern leather jacket over a ratty T-shirt. His friend is a lot shorter, crouched like a toad and slightly greenish in the dim light, his hair curly on the top of his head.

Koutarou shuffles closer. “You’re from Fukurodani, right?” he asks. “What are you doing here?”

There’s an awkward pause.

“We are here to kidnap you,” says Glasses. There’s a very quiet _why would you tell him_ … from one of his companions.

Koutarou blinks at him. He finds himself reacting faster than his brain can figure out how to react. “Oh,” he says. “Uh… no thank you?”

Glasses stares at him for a while, then, as though deciding he has nothing good to respond to that with, he dives forward and latches his arms around Koutarou. He’s fairly skinny, so his weight does little to unbalance Koutarou.

The other figure crouched under the window hops, frog-like, to help his friend, landing on Koutarou’s wing. He’s a little heavier, but short, and after a moment of flapping, Koutarou finds that he can lift him off the ground with one wing, and he does little more to unbalance Koutarou than Glasses, who is still dangling from his waist.

“Washio, help us out here?” says Glasses.

“I don’t think we should,” the fourth figure, clearly Washio, says, sounding like he’s said it many times before.

“Then why did you come?!” Glass cries.

Washio shrugs, the bony plates on his shoulders grinding together as he does. “Supervision,” he says after a moment’s thought.

“Onaga, come on,” Glasses tries.

Onaga shakes his head.

Glasses sighs, collapsing against Koutarou’s hip. “I don’t suppose if we asked nicely you’d let yourself be kidnapped?”

Koutarou blinks down at him. “No,” he says. “Sorry.”

The kidnapper still hanging onto his wing for dear life vanishes with a squeak. Koutarou looks back over his shoulder to see what happened to him, and finds him dangling from the iron grip Kenma has on the back of his shirt.

Kenma gives the kidnapper a tired look, holding him high enough that the kidnappers legs don’t touch the ground, and then at Koutarou. “You hurt?” he asks.

“Nah,” Koutarou says. “They’re trying to kidnap me but they’re not very good at it.”

Glasses slides down a little further.

“Huh,” Kenma says. Behind him, Lev is watching closely, tail swinging in in mild entertainment, and Yaku is watching Kenma as though deciding whether or not this is going to end in a fight or not. Kenma turns back to the kidnapper in his clutches. “Want come to the amusement park with us?”

-X-

“They’re new,” Hajime says with a suspicious glare.

It’s slightly chilly outside the amusement park, but Koutarou is beyond too hot, his wings wrapped uncomfortably into the trench coat Kenma had found for them in case they were seen. Outside the locked gate, Noya bounces back and forth beside a bald guy that Koutarou hasn’t met yet. Tooru is sitting beside the gate, wrapped in a scarf and a jacket that edges on too thin for the weather.

“These guys are from Fukurodani,” Koutarou says. They’d made their introductions on the way over, and Koutarou already feels like they’re sort of his friends. “That’s Washio with the spikes, Onaga…” He pats Onaga on the back,  “glasses guy is Konoha, and the short dude is Komi.”

“And you… know these guys?” Hajime asks.

“Just met ‘em,” Koutarou responds.

“Didn’t they try to kill you?” Hajime sighs, crossing his arms.

“Uhhh…” Koutarou says.

“That was Sakusa,” Washio says, very matter-of-fact. “He’s not here right now.”

Hajime furrows his brow and looks back at Tooru.

“Calm down, Iwa-chan,” Tooru says, shuffling further into his scarf and closing his eyes. “We’re not going in with them anyway, they won’t be able to hurt _me_.”

“You’re not?” Koutarou asks, blinking at Kenma.

Tooru shakes his head. “I’m just here to make sure no one sees you breaking in,” he says. “Or at least doesn’t remember it.”

“Don’t you want to come?” Lev asks.

Tooru cracks open an eye. “I’m epileptic,” he says. “Probably shouldn’t be around flashing lights anyway, especially not while under strain.”

Lev’s tail droops. “Huh,” he says. The disappointment passes in a moment. “Yaku-san!” he cries. “Can we go up in the Ferris wheel first?”

“Sure,” Yaku says, sighing slightly as Lev whoops and poofs across the fence.

“That’s supposed to be the last thing, isn’t it?” Komi asks.

“I only meant to bring Lev,” Kenma says, narrowing his eyes. “You’re only here by accident, so don’t argue.”

Komi swallows, quickly putting Washio between him and Kenma.

“Can I take off this coat?” Koutarou asks.

“Sure,” Tooru says, as Hajime stalks back beside him and shuffles down to sit beside him, his arm around Tooru’s shoulders. Tooru shifts a little to slip into the crook of his shoulder and close his eyes again.

“Come on, Yaku-saaan!” Lev calls.

“Lev, you idiot,” Yaku says, with little bite in his tone. “You have to get me across the fence too.”

Komi laughs and crouches down. “Watch this,” he says, elbowing Yaku. He leaves the ground in an impressive hop, landing on the top of the fence and clambering the rest of the way.

“Sweet!” calls the bald guy. “You’re a frog!”

Komi gapes at him. “I’m not a frog!”

“It’s true, he’s slimier than a frog,” Konoha volunteers. “Though he is amphibious.” He pauses, as though just hit by a massive epitome. “And green.”

“Hey!” Komi snaps.

“Isn’t it frogs that excrete mucus? It’s one of the things that differentiates them from toads,” Hajime volunteers.

Tooru cracks his eyes open to stare at him. “I like toads,” Hajime whispers back. Tooru makes a face, but closes his eyes again without a word.

“It’s true, frogs are kinda slimy,” Noya says. “I used to play with ‘em all the time. Remember, Ryuu?” He elbows the bald guy.

“Yeah, man, I remember,” Ryuu says, shaking his head. “I remember you licked one of them. Pretty sure Saeko still has a picture.”

Noya seems to find that uproariously funny, because he lets loose one of the loudest laughs Koutarou has heard. Other than possibly his own.

In the background, Lev gives up on trying to follow the conversation, instead poofing back to grab Yaku and transport him across the fence. He drags Yaku away, ignoring Yaku’s protests that he still needs to bring over everyone else.

“Huh,” Konoha says, still mired in thought. “Sorry, dude, guess you are a frog.”

“I’m not a frog!” Komi cries.

“It’s fine,” Washio says.

“It’s not fine, I’m not a frog!”

Kenma sighs and stretches out his hand for Noya. “Come on, I’ll take you over,” he says. Noya grabs his arm and lets Kenma lift him up as he flies over the fence and then returns, floating slightly above Ryuu, hand outstretched.

Koutarou can’t help but gawk. He hasn’t really seen Kenma fly ever, since he finds it awkward somehow, but Koutarou thinks it’s the most graceful thing he’s ever seen, a sort of drifting through the air, long hair floating around him in the gentle breeze.

“You gonna fly us over too?” Konoha asks.

Koutarou jumps out of his appreciative lull. “What?” he asks, slightly more defensively than he’d meant to. “I can fly!”

“Uh,” says Konoha, but Koutarou is already gone, tossing of his coat and entirely focused on trying to prove him wrong. Even though he hadn’t denied anything. And also if he had denied it, he would be right, because Koutarou can’t fly.

He tries to flap himself up with a powerful stroke of his wings, but the angle is off and he only manages to nearly knock himself off his feet. He tries again, but with a running jump, trying to clamber up on the fence and use it to propel himself up so that he only has to finish the job with his wings. He nearly manages to complete his plan, but his wings collide hard with the fence and he ends up sliding back onto his ass, raking his wings along the links.

He can feel embarrassment and disappointment crawling up his throat as he falls on his ass again. He crosses his arms with a huff. Everyone is looking at him and he just wants to give up and melt into the ground.

Kenma seems to notice the rising helplessness in Koutarou’s head, because he drifts down, extending his hand. Shame flashes through Koutarou’s chest at having to get help from Kenma when he clearly has _wings_ that should be _able_ to fly. “I can do it,” he mutters, even though he knows he can’t. He just doesn’t want to admit it to everyone, especially since most of _them_ are in control of their own powers already.

“This is faster,” Kenma murmurs.

Koutarou huffs. To the side, Tooru gives him a quiet thumbs up, even though Koutarou’s buzzing thoughts are probably terrible to him right now.

Koutarou takes a breath and then grabs Kenma’s hand. Kenma tugs him up just a little, just enough to get Koutarou off the ground. “Don’t flap into my face,” he warns, pulling up his hood with his free hand. “But go for it.”

Koutarou blinks at him. For a moment the idea that he’s so pathetic that Kenma is risking staying in range of his chaotic wings almost sends him plummeting even further, but with a little bit of well-practiced mental shoving, Koutarou manages to focus on the fact that Kenma is helping him, and that the two of them can surely get Koutarou over the fence.

Koutarou grins. “Alright,” he says, and tries to flap his way up.

It almost knocks them both out of the air, but after a good amount of push and pull, Koutarou manages to get a flailing, faltering forward motion, guided by Kenma.

He has to wedge his foot on top of the fence to push himself over and they end up landing on their hands and knees, but Koutarou figures that it _sort_ _of_ counts as flying over the fence.

“Holy shit, you’re like a baby bird,” Konoha chuckles.

“I haven’t had them long!” Koutarou protests. “They’re hard to handle!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Konoha says. “It’s cute, man.”

_Well_ , Koutarou thinks. _Could be worse._ He crosses his arms and fakes a sulk, which draws a laugh from everyone, and the issue is forgotten. The fact that Tooru definitely knows that the humiliation of getting so caught up in not being able to fly still stings in a decidedly non-comical way is an acceptable loss. Tooru doesn’t look at him, and Koutarou takes that as a sign that Tooru will pretend he doesn’t know.

Kenma flies over the rest of them, though he struggles a little with Washio, and they join Lev at the Ferris wheel, where Lev has realized that he can’t operate the Ferris wheel alone, and is sulking on the fence, tail twitching.

He probably doesn’t feel dumb about sulking like a little kid.

Koutarou shakes himself a little, pushing out a long breath. He doesn’t want to be in a slump right now. Instead, he looks at Kenma, who is actually talking to Noya, and smiles.

“Alright,” Ryuu says, leaping over the fence to the control panel. “Let’s get this show on the road.” He pulls a large clump of keys from his pocket and inserts them, happily pushing at some buttons and switches until the wheel lights up. “There we go.”

“Did you steal those?” Noya asks.

“I sure did,” Ryuu says, a little too proudly. Noya beams at him, way too proudly. “Alright, come on, no need to thank me, have fun.”

“Sweet!” Noya says, and runs off to drag Lev into one of the cars.

Kenma hangs back as the others follow him, and Koutarou stays beside him. “Wanna share? I can probably get my wings up against the walls.”

Kenma nods. “I guess.”

As it turns out, it’s easier said than done, but with Ryuu’s help they do get Koutarou’s wings inside and safely out of the way for Kenma, who worms his way up against Koutarou’s left wing, head ducked so the feathers don’t touch him. Ryuu shuts their door, and after a few beats, the wheel comes to life.

Kenma stretches out his legs, withdrawing into his hoodie. The lights below them are incredible from this angle, the whole city laid out before them like a glittering jewel box. Still, after only a moment of looking at the lights, he finds himself drawn back to Kenma’s eyes, glowing and golden as they watch him.

“You ok?” he asks, finally.

“I’m glad you’re here with me,” Kenma says.

“It’s not so bad socializing with these guys, is it?” Koutarou laughs.

“I mean metaphorically,” Kenma says.

Koutarou cocks his head and waits for Kenma to find the words to continue.

“It’s like… being a mutant, it’s like… like a pool,” Kenma says, slowly, pulling up his feet into his lap and holding them as he talks, frowning and staring down at the floor. “And Keiji and Tetsurou, they know what it’s like to be in the water, right? But there’s a deep end, too, where you spend every single second trying to stay afloat, and if you forget for just a second, you’ll sink.”

Koutarou pauses, mulling it over.

“It sucks that you can’t go outside during the day without having to think about hiding and that you have to watch your wings all the time, but…” Kenma lets out a long breath. “I’m glad you’re here with me.”

Koutarou laughs, because there doesn’t seem to be any better reaction, so he might as well. “Uh,” he says. “Sheesh. Sounds exhausting.”

Kenma chews at his lip, and then nods.

“I kinda hate metaphors,” Koutarou says finally. “‘Cause it’s nice and all, being able to explain it like that, but if we were in the deep end of a pool I’d probably let you stand on my shoulders for a sec to rest, but I don’t know what my shoulders are in the metaphor.”

Kenma stares at him for a moment, then laughs. A real laugh, instead of a default laugh. Koutarou grins, though he’s not really sure what about what he’d said was funny.

And then he’s even more confused, because Kenma is now crying and laughing at once.

Koutarou has no idea how to react or if he should be making more of an effort to wipe the remnants of his confused smile off his face.

“I don’t know either,” Kenma manages, unable to rub the tears from his eyes as fast as they flow from them.

“Maybe…” Koutarou says, “just for tonight… you could… pretend it’s ok to let go?”

“It’s not, though,” Kenma murmurs with a pathetic sniffle. “I’ve killed before, Koutarou.”

“I think we can be careful enough here that it won’t happen tonight,” Koutarou says.

“Maybe,” Kenma says. “I still can’t sleep with you guys, or touch Tetsurou, or…” He sighs, head thudding against the wall as he sits back. “What’s the point of pretending?”

Koutarou shrugs. “I don’t know. Does there have to be a point? I think you just need a break, even if it’s a little fake.”

Kenma is still for a moment, watching Koutarou’s face, and then he pitches forward, tugging Koutarou’s shirt over his head before Koutarou can protest. A moment later, however, Kenma’s arms loop around his neck and squeeze tightly, his lips crushing against Koutarou’s.

The material of his shirt is coarse and heavy, but Kenma’s arms are warm and soft around his neck. He hauls Kenma closer, one arm snaking between his shoulders and the other around his waist, pressing him as close as he can and kissing back as well as he can through the shirt. Kenma shuffles forward in his lap, crushing their bodies together.

It’s a far cry from actually making out, but there’s a bit of a thrill to it. Kenma has always been difficult to get into anything fast paced or wild. Kenma likes to watch from the sidelines and respond in carefully calculated and measured ways when he’s sure of things. This is fast and heavy and sloppy, Koutarou’s wings thudding against the glass, his shirt over his head and Kenma perched precariously in his lap, teeth scraping at Koutarou’s lip through his shirt.

They continue, occasionally falling over until Koutarou is sure both of them have several bruises to show for it, until the Ferris wheel grinds to a stop and the door clicks open.

They draw back, panting, and Koutarou carefully tugs his shirt down. “So. We gonna have some fun tonight or what?”

Kenma smiles carefully. “Alright,” he says. “I’ll do my best.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh, the sweet sound of buffer chapters... no hiatuses for the next 2 weeks for sure... After that, though... T_T 
> 
> Next week: Kenma does his best to have fun, does very well. Crying still happens.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We’re really bad at getting organized,” Konoha says. “Like… really bad.”
> 
> “I noticed,” Koutarou says. Their kidnapping attempt had been more than enough confirmation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Monday here, ok. (I think I only made it this long because fxvixen, my lovely beta, is a meanie and withholds her approval until it's time for me to post.)

“Do you like rollercoasters?” Koutarou asks, sitting up, careful to keep his wings pressed against the walls so that they don’t risk touching Kenma.

“I don’t know,” Kenma says, crawling out of the car. “I can’t remember the last time I was on them.” He scrunches up his nose. “Though I think Tetsurou puked.”

“C’mon then!” Koutarou cries, slowly and clumsily dislodging himself from the car, wings getting caught so many times it probably looks like a bird exploded in the car. “First, though, um…” He looks around, quickly finding Yaku. “Hey. Can we borrow your scarf?”

Yaku blinks at him, pushing Lev away as Lev crows at him about the lights of the city. He doesn’t seem bothered, quickly taking up his excited tirade with Konoha and Komi, who are similarly pumped up. “Why?” Yaku asks.

“For Kenma. I figure if we bundle him up enough he won’t have to worry so much about touching.”

“Oh,” Yaku says. “Yeah. Sure.”

“I’ll be hot in that scarf,” Kenma mutters, shrugging out of his jacket. “You can have this in exchange.” He extends the jacket to Yaku.

Koutarou takes the scarf. “Don’t move,” he warns, and carefully tugs off Kenma’s hood, draping the scarf over his shoulders. Kenma looks as though he might have stopped breathing. Koutarou smiles softly as he wraps the scarf around him and tucks it in so that it won’t come undone if Kenma moves around. He pulls up the hood over the scarf and gives Kenma’s shoulder a pat. “Good?”

Kenma takes a few experimental breaths, then nods. “I’ll live.”

“Awesome,” Koutarou says. He looks around, finding the largest rollercoaster. “Let’s go on that one!”

Washio looks at it, then at Koutarou. “No,” he says.

“Bah!” Konoha cries. “You’ll just have to sit it out.”

Onaga shuffles towards Washio, but Konoha and Komi catch him before he can hide behind him. “Nope, you have to come, Onaga!” Komi says with a grin, shoving him along.

Ryuu claps Washio on the back, wincing when he realizes that Washio’s back is entirely bones and spikes. “You can help me run the thing,” he says. “C’mon.”

They make their way to the rollercoaster, where Ryuu leaps over the small fence before the  control panel, the keys out of his pocket. Konoha and Komi tug Onaga towards the entrance, and Lev dashes after them. Koutarou leans on the gate to the control panel and watches as he goes about turning the rollercoaster on. “So you work here?” he asks.

Ryuu nods. “Yep,” he says. “Unless the boss finds out I stole his keys, in which case I’m unemployed.”

“Isn’t that a big risk?” Kenma asks.

“Kinda,” Ryuu says, shrugging. “But come on, man, these guys can’t even go out in public safely, what’s a little risk if it gives ‘em a night out?”

“You’re the man I want to grow up to be,” Noya breathes.

“Yeah, yeah,” Ryuu says, hunching his shoulders in embarrassment. “Just… enjoy your ride. And… keep your hands and arms and… umm…”  He stares at Koutarou, as though just realizing that he has wings. “... other limbs inside the… car…”

“Oh,” Koutarou says. “Hm. Yeah.”

“Hold on, we’ll figure something out,” Kenma says. He tugs Koutarou over to the first car, pushing him inside and hopping beside him. “Can you sit on them?”

Koutarou does his best, but the wings still stretch up over his shoulders awkwardly and his ass tugs at the feathers in a way that is decidedly uncomfortable.

“What about over your shoulders?” Yaku calls.

Koutarou reaches over to pull the hood over Kenma’s eyes as he tugs his wings out from under him. It’s a good thing he does because they manage to smack Kenma in the face several times. Kenma brings up his hands to steady the right wing, helping Koutarou lift it and unfurl the wings over his head, then bring them over his head and down in front of his face, locking himself in a fort of his own wings.

Kenma reaches over to tug them a bit further down. “Still ok?” he asks.

Koutarou can feel the stretch, but he nods. It’s not terrible.

“Ok. I’ll just hold them,” Kenma says. “And it’ll be fine.”

Koutarou can’t see anything like this, but he shrugs. “Alright then.”

Riding a rollercoaster blind is certainly an experience. He can hear the others shrieking and whooping behind them, and it gives him a good idea of where to expect drops, but the drops are still extra jarring like this. Kenma is silent beside him, but his arm remains firm over Koutarou’s wings, with only a little amount of shaking.

By the time they roll to a stop, Koutarou is entirely dizzy and he’s more than eager to stretch his wings out again. He looks down at Kenma, who uses the chance to withdraw his arm to fold over, arms around his head and his forehead against the edge of the car.

“You ok?” Koutarou asks, leaning over him.

Kenma’s whole body is shaking now, but he nods.

“You sure?” Koutarou asks, resting his hand on Kenma’s back. Behind them, Konoha stumbles out of their car to puke, helped by Onaga, who is utterly unaffected.

Kenma lets out an ugly snort, and Koutarou stares at him, cocking his head. “Are you…” he says slowly. “... laughing?”

Kenma nods again.

Koutarou pulls him up a little, and Kenma falls back against the seat, his wrist pressed to his nose, shaking with laughter. His eyes crinkle above the scarf, filled with tears, but now that he’s sitting up and looking at Koutarou, the giggles only intensify.

Koutarou finds himself grinning so hard his face hurts.

“I think we’re going to to the carousel next,” Yaku calls.

“Alright!” Koutarou yells back, tugging at Kenma. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Noo,” Kenma moans, barely able to reign in his giggles for long enough to get it out. Koutarou pulls him to his feet anyway. “I h-hate…” He doubles over with laughter, and Koutarou pauses to let him. He straightens up with some difficulty. “I hate carousels.”

“What?” Koutarou asks, some of Kenma’s laughter catching onto him. “Why would you hate carousels?”

“They’re so _awkward_ ,” Kenma laughs, stumbling as Koutarou renews his efforts to drag Kenma forward. “What… what am I supposed to do with my face while I’m sitting on a horse that’s just coasting up and down?”

“Why would you have to do something with your face?” Koutarou asks, as they stumble along, Koutarou walking backwards and Kenma falling after him, unable to stop laughing.

“I don’t know, but I can’t stop thinking about it,” Kenma says.

“Don’t get on a horse, then,” Koutarou says.

“What?” Kenma says, laughter picking up again.

“Don’t get on a horse and you won’t have to sit on a horse, thinking about your face,” Koutarou says.

“What else are you supposed to do on a carousel?”

“I don’t know. We could play tag,” Koutarou says.

“On a carousel?”

“Yeah.”

“ _Why?”_

Koutarou shrugs. “I don’t know. Why not? It’s the middle of the night, who’s gonna stop us?”

“That’s even more ridiculous,” Kenma cries, but he finally lets Koutarou tug him forward properly, dashing to catch up with the others.

“Kenmaaaa, come on, it'll be fun.”

He drags him across the park and onto the carousel.

“I'm not chasing you,” Kenma laughs.

Koutarou just grins at him, backing away until Ryuu manages to start the carousel and Koutarou falls back on his ass, wings wedged between a black horse and a green dragon of some kind. “Ow,” he mutters, but Kenma just starts laughing harder.

“Koutarou,” he wheezes, stumbling over to him. “This is stupid and you're going to...”

Koutarou flops back, trying to pull Kenma with him.

“... You're going to hurt yourself,” Kenma continues, steeling himself against Koutarou's pull even as he uses his free hand to laugh into it, almost doubled over.

“Then lay here with me,” Koutarou says. In the background, he can hear the guys from Fukurodani argue over a white horse.

Lev appears in a cloud of smoke behind Kenma, smacking into a pig-like creature as he falls over, unprepared for the movement of the carousel with his teleportation. Kenma sinks to his knees with a helpless snort.

“What are you guys doing?” Lev asks cheerfully, holding onto the pig for support.

Yaku comes running after him a moment later, grabbing him by the ear. “Gods, Lev, don't teleport on a moving object. You'll end up teleporting into a pole or something,” he scolds, tugging him away.

Koutarou uses the chaos to tug Kenma again, gently this time, and Kenma lets him this time, crawling forward onto Koutarou's wing. “Still awkward?”

“No,” Kenma sighs.

“I like the way the lights outside the carousel mix with the lights inside.” There's a certain bizarreness to it, the way the outer light seems to spin around them while the colorful inner lights flicker to the best of the music. “It's like rotational chiaroscuro.”

“Hm,” Kenma says, nestling closer.

The carousel stops sooner than Koutarou would like.

“Let’s go on another rollercoaster!” Lev cries.

“Gods, how can you manage it?” Yaku moans.

“It’s not that much worse than teleporting too far, and I do that a lot!”

“I’ll go with you, Lev!” Noya cries.

Konoha tries to escape, but Komi somehow nudges Onaga into stopping him. Kenma looks expectantly at Koutarou. He chuckles. “I’ll go if you want me to,” he says. “But my wings are gonna get sore.”

“We’ll take him!” Lev cries, latching onto Kenma.

Kenma glares for a moment, but then he sighs. “Alright, alright,” he says.

“Will you ride in my car?” Lev asks excitedly.

“Sure,” Kenma says, and lets Lev take his hand and pull him across the park again, Noya and Ryuu on their heels, clearly racing each other.

Koutarou hangs back with Washio and Yaku. “So,” Koutarou asks, leaning towards Washio. “Why were you guys trying to kidnap me, anyway?”

“Well, your boyfriend is our leader now,” Washio says.

Koutarou blinks at him. “Which one?”

Washio thinks for a moment, then shows him a height with his hand.

“Keiji?” Koutarou asks. “Why’s he your leader?”

Washio frowns at him as well as he can with his bone-plated face. “He stabbed our previous leader in the face,” Washio says.

His tone is so decisively final that Koutarou finds himself nodding and looking away for several beats before realizing that doesn’t explain much and he still doesn’t know what’s going on or how he feels about it. “Wait, so that makes him the leader?”

“Yep.”

“And why does that mean you wanted to kidnap me?”

“I didn’t want to kidnap you.”

“But… why did they want to kidnap me?”

“Because your boyfriend doesn’t want to be the leader.”

“So… you’re… trying to blackmail him?” Koutarou asks slowly. Washio looks ready to protest, so Koutarou cuts him off with a quick, “ _They’re_ trying to blackmail him?”

“Yep,” Washio says.

“Oh,” Koutarou murmurs. Why hadn’t he known any of this? The others had filled him in on the bare bones of what had happened, because he was still feverish and exhausted when they’d explained things, but isn’t _Keiji stabbed someone in the face_ important enough to warrant making the bare bones? “Is he ok?” he asks.

“Who?” Washio asks.

“The previous leader.”

“Oh yeah. Pissed, I think, that someone beat him without being strong enough to kill him,” Washio says. “At least I guess that’s why he’s sulking.”

That makes Koutarou feel a little better, but a confused hurt is building and roiling in his gut. “That’s stupid,” he says, but he’s not sure if he means the previous leader’s reasoning is stupid or if Keiji’s secrecy is stupid. Nonetheless, Washio nods solemnly.

Sooner or later, the upset is going to envelop him and he’s going to crash. That’s not something he can avoid. But right now, Kenma needs a break more than Koutarou needs to cry, so at the very least he can try to postpone the inevitable crash. Koutarou bites down on his lip and tries to focus on that.

Fortunately, Kenma’s post-rollercoaster giggling is cute enough to put the upset out of his mind for now. It seems having to ride with Lev instead of Koutarou hasn’t phased him much.

“We’re gonna,” Kenma wheezes, nearly falling over when Noya elbows him, “we’re gonna try to make cotton candy.”

“We left you alone with him for fifteen minutes and already you’ve talked him into a life of crime,” Yaku mutters, glaring at Noya. Noya just grins, putting an arm around a shaking Kenma.

Lev appears beside them. “I’m gonna teleport into the storm room!” he announces.

“ _No_ ,” Yaku says. “You can corrupt Kenma, he’s already tried to murder people, but don’t corrupt Lev!”

Koutarou tries not to frown, slowly clenching and unclenching his fists to let some of the static that precedes a meltdown leak out. He’s doing his best to stay in a good mood so Kenma can stay in a good mood, the last thing he needs is for someone to bring up some of the worst moments in Kenma’s life. Not to mention that, whether Yaku knows about it or not, Kenma _has_ killed people, even _without_ trying.

He’s not sure Kenma even noticed, because he’s laughing about something with Noya in the distance.

“But Yaku-san,” Lev whines, “cotton candy.”

“We’ve already broken in,” Washio volunteers, to which Komi lets out a valiant scream of _Woo! Crime!_ while Onaga helps Konoha puke into a bush.

“You animals,” Yaku murmurs, but once Ryuu jogs past them towards the storeroom, he relents, following after.

Ryuu points out the room and gives Lev a description of what he’s looking for before he disappears.

He reappears a little later. “I think I made a mess,” he says, tail slipping between his legs in something like actual shame.

Ryuu sighs. “You sure you took care of the CCTV?” he asks.

Kenma nods.

“Well, whatever. I didn’t steal the storeroom key, so even if they notice, maybe I’ll be alright,” he says with a shrug.

“You’re a hero, Ryuu,” Noya whispers.

“Yeah, yeah, shut up,” Ryuu snaps back, starting towards the cotton candy machine.

“Hey,” Konoha says. “Aren’t you human?”

“Yeah,” Ryuu replies. “So?”

“So, why are you risking your butt just so we can have a good time?”

Ryuu shrugs. “Why not?”

“Huh,” Komi says. “Guess you aren’t all bad.”

“We don’t usually have good experiences with humans,” Onaga volunteers, as though to apologize for Komi and Konoha.

“Yeah, well,” Ryuu says, as they reach the machine. He takes the candy from Lev. “A lot of humans are shit. Just gotta find the right ones.”

“Like you?” Komi asks, a little like it’s a test.

Ryuu laughs, loud and honest. “Man, I sure hope so.” He frowns down at the machine. “You might wanna step back. I’m only… 70% sure I know how to work this thing. Might catch on fire.”

“Great,” Yaku says.

Lev passes Kenma a bit of candied sugar he’d saved out, and Kenma takes it happily.

It doesn’t catch on fire, but it does take a while to get it to work, and in the meantime Koutarou is pretty sure there’s a lot of sugar that’s getting burned in there. But eventually Ryuu manages to make a lopsided ball of cotton candy, which he hands to Komi, and then another which he hands to Lev.

Kenma sighs. “Sticky,” he says, looking at Koutarou helplessly, wriggling his fingers to show his gloves.

“I’ll hold it and you can eat off of it,” Lev says.

Kenma glares up at him. “I’m _not_ doing that,” he says.

“Why not?” Lev asks.

“Because it looks dumb,” Kenma says.

“So?”

“So, I don’t like it.”

Koutarou pulls up his wing around Kenma. “Just take your gloves off, we’ll be careful,” he offers.

Kenma pauses a moment, then pulls the scarf down and tugs his gloves off with his teeth.

Lev sits down, settling against a pole near the machine, extending the cotton candy. Kenma plucks it off carefully, and after a little while, both of them eating the candy, he tugs off his hood as well. He takes a deep breath as though, with Koutarou’s shield, he can actually believe that he doesn’t need to cover up.

There’s a crash in the background. It seems Komi and Konoha have acquired a trash can lid and are now using it as a sled on Noya’s ice ramps while Ryuu cheers them on. Kenma laughs at them quietly, and that wrestles a smile onto Koutarou’s face, even though he still feels sad about Keiji.

“Kenma-san,” Lev says. “Do you want to sled with me?”

“I don’t like feeling unbalanced,” Kenma says.

“You can bundle up again and you won’t have to worry about falling on anyone,” Lev says.

Kenma hesitates for a moment, but then sighs. “Fine,” he says, carefully pulling his gloves back on. Koutarou helps him with the scarf, and Kenma tugs the hood over it. He lets Lev help him up, and Koutarou watches them stroll over to the others, Kenma grabbing onto Lev frantically when they step onto ice.

“Not your thing?” Yaku asks.

“Oh,” Koutarou says. He doesn’t particularly want to say that he’s too upset to have fun, in case that jumpstarts a total breakdown that Kenma is able to notice. “Uh… wings.” He displays the wings, in case Yaku missed them. “My balance is bad enough already. I’d probably break something.”

“Yeah,” Yaku says.

Lev finally manages to get Kenma on the makeshift sled and send him sliding down the ramp, watching with a grin until Kenma comes to a halt, keeling over with laughter. He tries to get up, ending up on his hands and knees instead, still giggling. Lev has to slide over to help him up.

Koutarou watches quietly, trying to think over how he’ll bring things up to Keiji without saying something hurtful. It’s surprisingly hard, since he doesn’t know why Keiji kept this from him. Did he think that Koutarou would be mad? Did he think Koutarou couldn’t handle it?

Konoha and Komi jog back to them, panting and laughing. “Hey,” Koutarou says. “Um. Why do you guys need Keiji anyway?”

“Oh,” Konoha says, rubbing at the back of his head. “You know about that, huh?”

“Washio told me,” Koutarou says.

“We’re really bad at getting organized,” Konoha says. “Like… really bad.”

“I noticed,” Koutarou says. Their kidnapping attempt had been more than enough confirmation.

Konoha deflates. “Hah. Well. Anyway, Sakusa kept things in order but he’s… you know. I mean, he got beaten by someone, so he’s not the leader, so he won’t. I don’t know if it’s an ego thing or if he really needs those rules or what, but we’re on our own, you know?”

Koutarou nods.

“Anyway, there’s… well. I know we kinda tried to kill you, when we thought you were human and all. Or at least, Sakusa did. But we’ve never met nice humans.”

“What kind of humans have you met?” Yaku asks, sitting beside Koutarou. Konoha and Komi sit with them.

“Well,” Konoha says. “There’s only a small group of people who know we’re in the sewers. I think they’re government or something, since they keep it secret that we’re there. Couple years back they tried to smoke us out. Tear gas and everything.”

Koutarou frowns. He can’t help but imagine the little girl in the store, trying to escape her own home amidst tear gas and fear.

“We moved base after that,” Konoha says. “And got a lot more strict about keeping humans away. But they still catch us coming out of the sewers every so often.”

“And?” Yaku asks.

“We don’t know,” Komi says. “Sometimes people disappear. Sometimes they just shoot at us.”

“I’ve gotten clipped a few times,” Konoha says, displaying a scar on his inner arm. The skin around it peels even more than the skin on his neck.

“Looking for sunglasses,” Komi mutters.

“Hey,” Konoha snaps. “These glasses are the only thing keeping you alive.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Komi mutters, while Koutarou looks at them in confusion.

“My eyes kill people,” Konoha explains to Koutarou. “Also they burn through plastic after a while.”

“Oh,” Koutarou says.

“Anyway, we can’t really afford chaos,” Komi says. “If people keep leaving the sewers unplanned they’re putting themselves and us in danger. Not to mention if these guys did find us, we’d be useless in a fight without a really good plan.”

Koutarou nods. “Well,” he says, slowly. “I just found out about this, so I don’t know why Keiji’s refusing. Other than he’s probably mad you guys tried to kill me.”

“Sorry about that,” Komi says sheepishly.

Koutarou shrugs. “I guess I’ll try to talk to him, but he’s pretty stubborn.” _And we’re probably gonna end up fighting when I bring this up._

“Hey!” Noya calls. “We’re heading to the funhouse, c’mon!”

Konoha and Komi take off without a second thought, but Koutarou and Yaku are slower. To be fair, Koutarou does really like funhouses, though he doesn’t feel in the mood to be as excited about it as the rest of them. He just wants to quietly appreciate it.

Kenma waits up for him, extending his hand. Lev has run off with the others, leaving the two of them to take a moment to just stop and hold onto each other. Kenma seems to sense that Koutarou isn’t feeling great, but he doesn’t bring it up, just pulls him along.

He’s quiet but firm next to Koutarou, and while the rest of the groups run through the mirror filled halls, their laughter echoing around them, Kenma lets Koutarou look around, just appreciating the surrealness of it all. It’s like they’re in another world, a strange, colorful mirror world where Koutarou doesn’t have to fight Keiji tomorrow and Kenma doesn’t have to be tightly wound and meticulously careful every second.

They end up in one of the isolated rooms, behind a clever optical illusion that makes it seem like there’s a family of bears eating dinner outside. The only lighting is a blacklight that makes the white in Koutarou’s hair and wings glow. Kenma remains a shadow all in black as he slides into Koutarou’s lap.

“I don’t want to go home,” Kenma says, the tears starting back up again.

“Nah, come on, Kenma,” Koutarou says softly.

“Let’s run away and join the circus,” Kenma says.

“You’d miss Tetsu,” Koutarou says, because he really doesn’t want to say what Kenma probably needs him to say.

“I’d have you.”

“You need him,” Koutarou says. “He’s your soulmate.”

“I don’t want to be… to be his soulmate,” Kenma says, though that’s not what he means to say. At this point, both he and Koutarou know what he means to say, and what Koutarou will have to respond. “I want to be someone easier.”

Koutarou places his palms into Kenma’s, taking a moment to look at how much smaller they are. Kenma doesn’t bother to take his hands back, or to wipe away his tears.

“It won’t work,” Koutarou says, finally. “You can’t keep taking a break forever. You’ll still be you in the morning, even if you leave everything else behind.”

“The closer I get to him the worse it gets that I can’t just… just stop trying to find work around and _be_ with him,” Kenma croaks.

“I know,” Koutarou says, closing his hands around Kenma’s. “That’s why I figured you needed a break, while we were out here anyway. An emotions break, ya know? But we gotta go home soon.”

“I don’t want to. I don’t want to go back to real life,” Kenma says, sniffling. “I don’t want to be me. I want to be someone easier.”

Now they’re both crying, but there’s nothing to make things better. “I know,” Koutarou says, because that’s really all there is to say.

-X-

They’re almost done crying by the time Kenma’s phone starts buzzing. Kenma sighs, picking up and putting it on speakerphone before dropping it on his chest.

“ _Hey_ ,” comes Hajime’s voice. “ _Tooru can’t keep this up any longer.”_

“Alright. We’ll be out in a minute,” Kenma says, pulling down the scarf to rub at his nose as he sits up.

 _“Thanks_ ,” Hajime says.

Kenma sighs, looking back at Koutarou. “You found out, huh?” he asks.

Koutarou knows he’s guessed right. He nods.

“He’s scared,” Kenma says. “Don’t be too mad at him.”

Koutarou clambers to his feet, helping Kenma up. “What’s he scared of?” he asks.

Kenma shrugs. “A lot of things. I doubt he knows either,” he says.

Koutarou sighs. “I’m not gonna yell at him,” he says finally. But he is angry. He doesn’t particularly understand why either.

Kenma sticks his hands in his pockets. “I know,” he says.

They help Ryuu shut everything down. This time, Lev remembers to teleport each of them out. Kenma stops to check on Tooru, who is gripping his bloody nose while Hajime scolds him. “I got distracted,” Tooru whines. “They were so happy.” He gives Koutarou half a look, but he doesn’t add anything.

“Idiot,” Hajime grumbles. “Come on. You’re not leaving your bed for the next two days, mister.”

“Carry meeee,” Tooru whines, letting his arms flop up in front of him.

Hajime sighs, leaning down to pull Tooru into his arms. One of his arms strokes up and down Tooru’s back as he adjusts their position. “This is an angry back rub,” he mutters to Tooru.

Tooru giggles tiredly. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m shaking in my boots.”

“Better be. You’re getting angry kisses tonight.”

“Someone help me, I’m being abused by my husband.”

Hajime kisses him on the forehead in response. “Shittywazumi.”

“Yaaaay, you got it right,” Tooru mumbles, before falling asleep on Hajime’s shoulder.

They walk the rest of the way home in silence, the Fukurodani crew breaking off when they find a suitable manhole cover, Hajime and Tooru breaking off a little sooner to go to their apartment.

“Thanks for this,” Kenma says, still sniffling a little, but looking mostly put together.

“Yeah, no worries. He’ll be fine,” Hajime says. “I’ll let you know how he’s doing tomorrow.”

Kenma nods.

The rest of them all head on to the Institute, quietly slipping in through the front door so as to not wake anyone.

Of course, that turns out to be useless, because the light in the kitchen is already on, possibly because the kitchen contains a very tired looking Suga and an absolutely livid Keiji.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God it's really, really good to have buffer chapters. Did I say this last week? Probably. (It was getting scary there for a week or two...)
> 
> Next week: Bokuto and Akaashi break up. Haha.
> 
> ... I'm kidding, please don't kill me. But talks are had. Dogs are... present, at some point, technically. Hugs are... involved.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why didn’t you tell me?” Koutarou asks, and he doesn’t say it half as angrily as Keiji expected. Just tired and hurt.  
> It would be so easy to just say Because I was scared. I don’t know exactly why, but I’m sorry.  
> Instead, Keiji panics.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like... a teensie bit of a content warning for ableism, though probably only if you're looking for it. (I think I'm only mentioning it because my first draft had something I wasn't comfortable with until I scratched it out but... you know.)
> 
> Anyway, shout out to my beta, fxvixen, who will probably murder me now.

Technically, Keiji doesn’t have a right to be angry. Koutarou left a note. Kenma texted Tetsurou. All they were doing was going to an amusement park, but panic from all directions has mixed into a cocktail of anger and fear that Keiji doesn’t know how to reign in anymore.

“So,” he grits out. “Have fun?”

He expects Koutarou to deflate immediately and apologize, but instead, Koutarou looks him straight in the eyes. “Yeah,” he says.

Kenma shuffles towards the stairway. Keiji doesn’t particularly care.

“I can’t believe you broke into an amusement park,” Suga groans. “We really don’t need anyone else getting arrested here…”

“Weren’t you the one who got arrested?” Noya says.

“You shut up,” Suga snaps, slamming his hand down on the table and glaring at Noya. “And you… Tanaka? What the hell.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tanaka says. “Don’t worry, I’m getting my lecture later. Daichi’s on his way to pick me up.”

Suga freezes mid-scolding. “Daichi?” he asks. “As in Sawamura Daichi?”

“Yeah,” Tanaka says, at approximately the same time someone knocks on the front door.

Suga manages to leap out of his chair, to the living room and dive behind the nearest couch with surprising speed. “I’m not here!” he calls back, and Kenma hurries to open the door, using the fact that he’s escaped the kitchen to vanish up the stairs right after.

Sawamura enters the kitchen still distracted by Kenma’s quick escape, but he quickly turns his gaze to Tanaka with a vague sense of disappointment. Tanaka quickly looks away as innocently as he can. “You,” he says, vague disappointment quickly turning into something much more imposing. Tanaka is starting to sweat under his glare. “You are in so much trouble. The second I take you home…”

“Sorry, Daichi,” Tanaka manages.

Sawamura gives a small grunt and turns back to Keiji. “How is Sugawara?” he asks, pleasant yet again.

“Hiding behind the couch pretending he’s not here,” Keiji mutters.

“ _Asshole_ ,” Suga hisses from his hiding place.

“Ah,” Sawamura says, strolling over to the couch, leaning onto the back but not looking over. “You know, you might not be here, but I am, if you need to talk. I know you still have my number.”

Suga subtly tugs a pillow off the couch and onto his head, as though that will hide him any better.

“Text me,” Sawamura says, then turns back to glare at Tanaka. “And you. To the car. Now.”

“Yes, Daichi,” Tanaka says, and hurries out of the room.

Koutarou hasn’t looked away from Keiji since they got back. Yaku seems to have noticed, and is currently working on dragging Lev out of the room. Suga seems to notice the mounting tension as well, and despite the fact that he’s still blushing, he sprints over to shove Noya after Yaku, leaving only Keiji and Koutarou in the kitchen, staring at each other.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Koutarou asks, and he doesn’t say it half as angrily as Keiji expected. Just tired and hurt.

It would be so easy to just say _Because I was scared. I don’t know exactly why, but I’m sorry_.

Instead, Keiji panics.

Koutarou is clearly hurt and angry and the fact that he’s not yelling or telling Keiji he’s terrible seems to be even worse. Keiji knows how to avoid an enraged blow. He doesn’t know how to undo the pained look on Koutarou’s face. “Because you would have told me to buddy up with them,” he blurts. “Because you’re fucking naive and you would have just… just forgiven them, right away, because you’re soft and you think you can just be friends with everyone, and they tried to _kill you_.”

Koutarou just stares on, looking even more hurt.

 _Yell at me,_ Keiji thinks. _Yell at me, you’re supposed to yell at me._ “You never think about things, you just… just do whatever you feel. Not that… there’s any… c-con… consis...” He trails off. As much as he wants to cross a line, to have Koutarou irrevocably angry at him, he finds he can’t quite manage to stoop as low as he’d almost stooped.

Koutarou’s eyes flicker a little, as though he’s thinking over his next words. “There’s no point in trying to rile me up,” he says, finally. “I’m already mad at you.”

Keiji is shaking. He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know how to fight with someone who actually loves him. He only knows how to fight like a caged animal, ripping and tearing at his enemies until he can escape.

“I’m not going to attack you or anything,” Koutarou says. “But I think maybe we should talk in the morning, ‘cause I’m pretty much crashing and you’re really scared and we’re probably gonna say things we won’t be able to take back.”

Keiji can’t even wipe away the tears gathering in his eyes because his entire body is shivering. Koutarou steps closer and Keiji flinches impulsively. Koutarou stops, very carefully putting his hands forward so that Keiji can take the step needed to set his face in those hands. Koutarou tugs him up a little so that he can kiss Keiji’s forehead.

“I’m gonna cry myself out so I don’t fall asleep too mad,” Koutarou says. “And then I’m gonna sleep. And then we’re going to talk about this, and everything is going to be alright.”

“What if we can’t talk it out?” Keiji whimpers.

“We can,” Koutarou says. “Promise. Just let me pull myself together, alright? I’m super tired.”

Keiji nods, and Koutarou hugs him tightly before leaving. Keiji almost grabs after him in terror, but instead he falls back, letting Koutarou clamber up the stairs. Keiji just falls back against the counter and collapses into sobs.

After a while, Suga tiptoes back and helps him up, quietly leading him out of the kitchen before the morning rush and into the back hallway, where he might have some privacy. “Want me to stay?” Suga asks, petting his hair quietly.

Keiji shakes his head, curling in on himself. Suga stays for another few moments, but then he stands and leaves Keiji to his own devices, only returning a moment later to drape a thin blanket over him.

The hours crawl by. Keiji tries to focus on his breathing, head between his knees.

He doesn’t have to wait as long as he thinks, because Koutarou is back after only a few hours. “Alright,” he says, bending down. He moves slowly, so that Keiji can always see what he’s going to do next, and pulls Keiji into his lap, letting his head rest on Koutarou’s shoulder. He wraps his wings tightly around Keiji like a protective cocoon. “So. What exactly happened?”

“I thought he’d killed you so I stabbed him in the eye,” Keiji whimpers.

“Ok,” Koutarou says.

“I wanted to kill him.”

“That makes sense,” Koutarou says.

“B-but,” Keiji whimpers, “you wouldn’t have.”

Koutarou is quiet, chewing on his lip as he mulls it over. “Nah. Guess not. So?”

“So,” Keiji says. “So… what if… what if after all the fear and pain and… and everything I’ve been through there’s just… something incurably wicked in me? And the second you’re not there to believe in me I just… just go nuts.”

“That’s dumb,” Koutarou blurts.

Keiji stops breathing for a moment, utterly startled. “What?”

“Sorry,” Koutarou sighs. “I’m still mad you kept secrets from me. Or that you didn’t trust me to react right or something.”

Keiji shoves his nose further into Koutarou’s collar, sniffling loudly.

“I’ve never seen you do anything wicked,” Koutarou says. “Just kinda… lash out at people ‘cause you feel threatened. You’re a big ol’ softie when you feel safe, though.”

Keiji laughs a little at that. “I… I don’t think I wanted you to be ok with this,” he says. “I just… Sometimes it feels like there’s parts of me that are just… mangled beyond repair and they make me scared and mean and… And I don’t want you to love those parts of me, because I _hate_ them.”

“Well, I don’t love that they’re _there_ ,” Koutarou mutters, sounding slightly offended, stroking the back of Keiji’s head. “But I do love _you_ , scared and mean parts and all.”

Keiji is quiet. He still can’t help but feel that there’s something unfair about that. He can’t quite manage to formulate a reason why, though.

“I broke Tetsurou’s nose, once,” Koutarou murmurs. “It wasn’t long after my parents kicked me out and I was so mad about everything. And you know how well I can handle my emotions.”

“You have a lot of them,” Keiji says weakly.

“And it wasn’t even about something big like murder. Just a blanket.”

Keiji doesn’t know what to say to that.

“It’s ok to be scared,” Koutarou whispers, letting him down enough to look in his eyes. “But please trust me. I love you. _All_ of you. And that’s ok too.”

Keiji sniffles. “I guess I’ll learn to handle that,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry attacked you last night. This morning. Whenever.”

Koutarou thinks about it for a moment. “I forgive you,” he says. Not, _it’s fine._ Keiji flushes. Apparently he can’t get away with everything without so much as a scolding.

“Anyway,” Koutarou says. “Didn’t he stab you first?”

Keiji freezes. Apparently, he doesn’t know the whole story. “Actually,” he says, feeling a little queasy. “Um. I sort of… impaled myself on his knife to immobilize his arm. And then I stabbed him.”

Koutarou goes rigid beneath him. He looks downright scary when he looks down at Keiji, his eyes barely human anymore and his hands claw-like on Keiji’s shoulders. It’s only his wings that stay soft, pressing even more protectively against Keiji. “Now _that_ I’m mad at,” Koutarou says, but now that Keiji’s calmed down he doesn’t feel much more than sheepish.

“Sorry,” he says.

“You thought I was dead for like… two seconds and you already stopped caring about yourself that much?”

“I didn’t particularly care about anything. Nothing mattered without you.”

“You matter,” Koutarou says, tugging him closer.

Keiji just lets him, feeling boneless in his crushing embrace. “Sorry,” he mutters.

Koutarou shakes him a little, but he lets go after a moment. “I love you,” he says.

“I love you too,” Keiji whispers. He nestles into Koutarou’s shoulder, timing his breathing with Koutarou’s. After a long pause, he sighs. “Anyway. Aren’t you going to talk me into helping Fukurodani?”

“Not if you really don’t want it,” Koutarou sighs. “But I want to help them. And I think you could do a good job.”

Keiji huffs, pulling away to look at Koutarou. “I don’t _want_ you to be friends with people who tried to kill you.”

“I’m already friends with them,” Koutarou says, rubbing his nose against Keiji’s. “So there.”

In a move he attributes to spending too much time with Tetsurou lately, Keiji just sticks his tongue out. “ _Fine_ ,” he grumbles. “What do they even need me for anyway?”

“To keep order, so they don’t get picked off by the government.”

Keiji stares at him for a long time. “What?” he says, finally.

Koutarou blinks at him. “Keiji,” he says, slightly horrified. “You didn’t even _ask_ what their problem was?”

“No!” Keiji cries. “They tried to _murder_ my _boyfriend_!”

There’s a sudden very oppressive silence. Keiji looks up at Koutarou, who is not looking at him, but at the living room. He twists to follow his eyes.

There are three people in the living room. Two of them are familiar. The third looks deeply disgruntled and is holding one of the fluffiest dogs that Keiji has ever seen.

“Is this a bad time?” asks one, with a pastel pink hair that Keiji is very sure he should know from somewhere.

“Uh,” Keiji says.

“Hey, you guys are Tooru’s friends!” Koutarou says brightly. “What are you guys doing here?”

The third person, who looks like he might have been born with emo eyeliner, lifts the dog, frowning heavily. “He’s stuck,” he growls.

“What?” Keiji says.

“He’s stuck as a dog,” the stranger says, like he can’t decide whether he’s very, very angry, or just wants to cry.

-X-

“Whatever you need him for it better be important,” Hajime says. Hanamaki is still just outside the kitchen, explaining things to Tooru.

“It’s not difficult,” Keiji says, trying not to laugh. “I think he’ll be alright.”

Hajime grumbles, sitting down in front of Koutarou, who is holding Yahaba, who is still stuck as a dog, trying his best to comfort him by wrapping him in his wings. Hajime leans over to scratch his stomach, still slightly cross, and Yahaba goes stiff. Kyoutani’s eye twitches, though Keiji can’t tell who he’s jealous of by the way he looks between Hajime and Yahaba.

Tooru slinks into the room a little bit later, leaning a little on Hanamaki. He looks utterly terrible, hair disheveled and dark circles under his eyes. Nonetheless, when he sees Hajime, sitting inside the arch of Koutarou’s extended wing, rubbing Yahaba’s stomach, a teasing smile flickers over his face before he schools it into something serious again.

“Iwa-chan,” he drawls. “Why are you petting another man?”

Hajime looks at him like he’s lost his mind. “What? I’m petting the _dog,_ not Bo…” he trails off, following Tooru’s expectant look, then looking back up at Kyoutani’s vaguely constipated face. “Oh. Oh no.”

Tooru giggles, then winces. “Oh my head,” he whines, pulling up a chair and slumping forward onto the table.

“I am so sorry,” Hajime says, standing up and holding his hands out as an apology.

“Feeling up minors…” Matsukawa says with a tut.

“And so soon after his marriage too,” Hanamaki continues, faking a sniffle.

“Tooru, has he grown sick of you so soon?” Matsukawa asks.

“He abuses me too,” Tooru says, voice muffled by his arm. “Last night there were only angry kisses.”

“Oh my gods,” Hajime whispers. “Why are you people like this.”

“I’m so sorry,” Hanamaki cries, draping himself over Tooru.

“Get off me, I have a migraine,” Tooru mumbles, and Hanamaki dances back.

“Anyway,” Keiji interrupts. “We only need Tooru to translate.”

Tooru manages to push himself up so he’s almost sitting. “I am here, I know what I’m doing,” he declares.

“Babe,” Hajime warns.

“No… no. Sssh. I can’t turn off my reading anyway, I can do this,” Tooru says, holding up a finger. “With very little extra effort.”

Hajime crosses his arms. “You shouldn’t be putting any effort into _anything_ today, idiot.”

“Stop calling me an idiot,” Tooru whines. “I know our marriage has gone so cold you need to resort to minors but there’s no need to abuse me like this.”

“Oh, hush,” Hajime says, kissing Tooru’s head. “One nosebleed and you’re going back to bed.”

“Ngh,” Tooru says, collapsing back onto his arms. “Anyway. Feel free to start interrogating him, I’m translating.”

“How’d you get stuck?” Matsukawa asks.

“Hrgk,” Tooru says, sitting up and pressing a hand to his head, closing his eyes. “One thought at a time, please.”

Yahaba fidgets in Koutarou’s lap, licking his nose.

“Something something embarrassment,” Tooru says, yawning.

“Oi, do a good job or you’re fired,” Matsukawa says.

Tooru groans. “I wanna sleeeeeep,” he whines.

“You’re the one who wanted to come,” Hajime sighs.

“Why didn’t you stop me, Iwa-chan,” he mumbles, falling back against Hajime. “Anyway I think what Yahaba-chan is trying to say is that he was too mortified by…” He clears his throat, “... something, and apparently the shock got him stuck.”

“Does he know how to unstick himself?” Kyoutani growls.

Tooru winces. “He’s being very rude, both to you and to me, who has to listen to him with a headache, but the gist of it is that if he knew he would do it.”

“Well what if we unembarrass him,” Matsukawa suggests.

“How exactly do you unembarrass someone?” Hanamaki says, raising his eyebrow.

“I don’t know, just seemed like a good suggestion.”

“Hrgk,” Tooru says again, pulling his shirt over his head. “Stop thinking so much, everyone, I’m in pain.”

“How exactly do you want us to figure this out,” Hanamaki says, looking up at him, “without thinking?”

“Quietly,” Tooru whines, not pulling down his shirt.

Keiji yawns. “I haven’t slept at all today,” he mutters. “If this goes on much further I’m going back to bed.”

“Ask him how he transforms,” Kyoutani offers.

Tooru is quiet for a while, head cocked while he listens. Then he bursts into wild laughter. “Oh gods,” he wheezes, pulling down his shirt so he can breath. “Oh my… oh gods… He’s… he can’t turn back… because… because he usually focuses on his human body… but he can’t… think of human bodies...  because he… he saw Kyoutani n-naked.” He curls forward with a wheeze. “Oh gods…”

Kyoutani has gone red as a beet and Yahaba tries to tuck his head under Koutarou’s armpit.

“You’re a real asshole, you know that?” Hajime sighs.

“Grk,” Tooru responds, straightening up quickly to catch the blood dripping down his chin, still giggling.

Hajime stares at him, unamused. “Five days in bed.”

“Pfft,” Tooru manages to reply, spewing blood onto his hand.

“Are you ready to go home already?” Hajime sighs.

Tooru nods. “Carry me?”

“All I do is carry you,” Hajime grumbles, hauling him into his arms. “Stop asking him for help, at least until he’s slept this off. You know he can’t say no.”

“Oh he can say it,” Hanamaki says.

“Just can’t mean it,” Matsukawa finishes.

“Am I an asshole or a pushover, make up your minds!” Tooru squawks over Hajime’s shoulder as Hajime carries him away.

“Nu-uh,” Matsukawa says.

“You know you’re both,” Hanamaki finishes.

“I hate you both,” Tooru moans, and collapses onto Hajime’s shoulder.

“Good night, everyone,” Keiji sighs.

“I’ll stay here until we fix this, ok?” Koutarou asks.

Keiji looks back to see him smile hopefully. He does his best to smile back, though he’s more than exhausted. “Yes,” he says. “I’m alright now, Koutarou. Good luck, Yahaba-san.”

-X-

When Keiji next wakes, it’s with a headache and a face full of feathers. Instead of trying to sit up and decide how to start going about his day for real this time, he nestles into the feathers and pulls the lower half of Koutarou’s wing over him as subtly as he can. Koutarou doesn’t seem to notice he’s awake, because he just nuzzles further into Keiji’s hair and sighs. Keiji leans into it and lets himself doze. There’s still the matter of Fukurodani that remains unresolved, but Keiji feels infinitely better with his secrets out in the open.

And though he’d insisted to himself that he would feel even more wretched if Koutarou was fine with everything, now that he _is_ fine with it, Keiji just wants him to hug him and never let go. The fact that he has a terrible headache and is sore everywhere doesn’t help.

Perhaps he was more rattled by the idea of stabbing someone than he’d thought. The last time he’d gone up against anyone directly, it had been to save Tooru, and then there had been so much to worry about in getting Tooru back on his feet that Keiji had never had time to worry about how attacking someone made him feel.

The door creaks open, and someone tiptoes in.

“Hey,” Tetsurou whispers.

Keiji must have slept through most of the day if Tetsurou is already home. He can’t really bring himself to care.

Koutarou sits up carefully, trying not to wake Keiji. “Hey,” he says. He sounds slightly nervous.

The bed dips as Tetsurou sits down beside them. “So. Kenma,” Tetsurou says.

“Look, it wasn’t…”

The bed jolts as Tetsurou moves. “Don’t worry about it. I’m not jealous. Kenma and I pretty much fell in love with you as a couple, so… you know. I just… whatever you did for him last night, is it something… I could do? Or should be doing?”

Koutarou is quiet for a while. “Nah,” he says. “I think he needed a break. From… life. You know? Like a… a personality nap. I think you’re too much a part of him to help him do that.”

Tetsurou sighs. “Yeah, I figured,” he says. “He’s getting better, I think, but… somehow that ends up with him struggling more. Like he’s only just realizing how frustrated he’s been and instead of checking out he just…” Keiji feels him motion something again, and he’s fairly sure Koutarou nods. “Anyway, thanks for giving him a night off.”

“Lev helped,” Koutarou says, then chuckles. The rumbling in his chest makes Keiji feel warm. “Though don’t tell Kenma I said that.”

“Oh, trust me, even I don’t like to push Kenma that much,” Tetsurou says. He pauses for a moment. “Keiji? How’s he doing? I guess you know about everything now.”

Koutarou nods. “I wish you would have told me,” he mutters.

“Hey, that was Keiji’s choice,” Tetsurou says. “I don’t like to tell people’s secrets for them. Except to Kenma. Also unless they’re Tooru’s, because gods know he’s bad at taking care of himself.”

“He’s getting better,” Koutarou says. “At least, I think he’s trying, he just doesn’t really know how. But he’s grounded now.”

Tetsurou sniggers at that. “He’ll be climbing the walls in a week, I can tell you that,” he says. He rubs Keiji’s thigh. “Man, I’m glad he told you, though. Pretty sure he was really freaked by everything that happened down there.”

Keiji does his best not to pull away in embarrassment, but he must tense, because Koutarou shifts under him like he’s just noticed Keiji is awake. He hums in vague agreement, but he waits until Tetsurou leaves again to tug Keiji up a little so Koutarou’s nose is against his own. “Hey,” he murmurs.

“I want to sleep more,” Keiji says. “Everything hurts.”

“Sleep,” Koutarou murmurs. “I gotcha.”

“Is it possible to get muscle cramps from shivering?” Keiji croaks. He doesn’t actually think he can fall asleep, as sad as he is to realize it.

Koutarou strokes his hair and kisses his face. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left you alone last night. I was crashing really hard and I wasn’t thinking straight.”

Keiji shakes his head. “I think it’s alright,” he murmurs. “I don’t know. I shouldn’t have tried to provoke you and I can’t help but feel that a night of shivering in the corner alone is still better than going down that path.”

“Let’s try not to do this again?” Koutarou suggests.“Fight like this?”

“How should we fight next time?” Keiji murmurs. “Maybe we could try the Tetsurou and Kenma way. Scream at each other while drunk and then talk it over after.” The moment he says it he wants to puke, the shivers starting back up again.

Koutarou hugs him tighter. “No,” he says, his hand warm and solid against the back of Keiji’s neck. “We’re not doing that.”

“Thank you,” Keiji says, feeling his throat close up with tears again. Panic grips him, though he’s not sure what it’s about. “L-let me sit up.”

Koutarou is quick to move his wing aside and help Keiji up, wrapping himself around Keiji again once they’re both sitting. “This ok?” he asks.

Keiji nods, struggling to just breathe. He’s sobbing again. He feels entirely drained and wrung out, sore to the bone, but Koutarou just sinks his nose into the crook of Keiji’s neck, wings settling over him protectively and his arm rubbing a steady, careful rhythm against Keiji’s back. Keiji tries to time his breathing to that rhythm, and the panic passes again, albeit slowly and haltingly.

“Fukurodani,” he croaks.

“We don’t have to talk about that just yet,” Koutarou says.

Keiji shakes his head. He knows when it’s better to just tear the band-aid off. He’s already been keeping all this too tight to his chest, and it’s festering and putrid. Now that the wound has been opened anyway, it needs to all be out and dealt with. “What exactly is going on with them?” Keiji asks.

“They’re scared of humans because there’s a group of humans who’ve been targeting them. They found out where they were and tried to smoke them out once, but now they’ve moved, so the group just catches them on the way out whenever they try to get the things they need.”

“They’re trying to kill them?”

“A couple of them got injured, and some of them have disappeared.” His face takes on a dark look that Keiji doesn’t like seeing on there at all. “They’re probably dead.”

“Or worse,” Keiji says, thinking of the various places he’s been trapped. He does his best to shove that thought away. He feels scrubbed raw and he can’t handle those memories now.

“Apparently without someone to keep order, things just sort of fall apart down there and they’re defenseless. Or something like that,” Koutarou says.

“Why can’t Sakusa whip them into shape?” Keiji groans. “He’s still alright, he just…”

“Well I don’t really get it,” Koutarou says. “But I guess whoever stabs the leader is the leader. It’s the rule. And I mean… if rules are the only thing keeping you and everyone you should be keeping alive… well… alive, it’s not so bad to keep to them like crazy.”

Keiji makes a face. “Don’t make me feel sympathy for Sakusa,” he hisses.

“Well if you don’t, I’m gonna have to for both of us,” Koutarou says, an undertone of stubbornness in his voice.

“Ugh,” Keiji replies.

“Anyway, I’m not gonna make you do anything you don’t want to do,” Koutarou says. “But if you’re just not helping them ‘cause of me, then I think I have a bit of a right to say I don’t want that.”

Keiji moans, burying his face into Koutarou’s chest. “You’re actually very shrewed,” he mutters. “Why do we never acknowledge this?”

“‘Cause I’m such a sweetheart,” Koutarou says, with a grin. Keiji pinches his nose and he startles back with a squawk. “Ow!”

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week: Bokuto demands to be a mother. Akaashi must deliver the tragic news that he would, in fact, be a father.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keiji nuzzles into his shoulder, and Koutarou gives him another absentminded nip on his earlobe. Keiji tries not to laugh at the bizarre movement. “Are you sure you want me to help Fukurodani?” he mumbles instead. “We could just stay in bed for the rest of our lives. Tetsurou and Kenma will have jobs and we’ll…”
> 
> “... get fat?” Koutarou says.
> 
> Keiji does laugh at that. “We’d have to go on a diet,” he says.
> 
> Koutarou squints, searching Keiji’s eyes. “Are you sick?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explicit sex from "He feels dizzy and overwhelmed and it’s not nearly enough." to "“I pulled out a few of your feathers,” Keiji says"
> 
> Also tiny warnings for hints at Akaashi's backstory (nothing graphic or intense, though)
> 
> And like... Konoha's backstory. I don't know what warning to give that but... there's gotta be something. I wish I had been warned, and I wrote it. (Thanks to fxvixen, my beta, for pointing things out and making me fill my plotholes with angst.)

Keiji is still sore the next time he wakes up, though he can’t remember when he’d fallen back asleep. He feels a lot better in general, especially snuggled under Koutarou’s wing. He slides his face further into the feathers. Koutarou’s feathers ruffle, but Keiji takes his time in emerging from them, peering up at Koutarou, who is watching him softly.

“Feel better?” he asks, nipping absently at Keiji’s cheek. “You look less freaked.”

Keiji blinks, but he decides not to comment, yawning instead. “What time is it?”

Koutarou shrugs, his wings shifting. “Afternoon sometime.”

Keiji nuzzles into his shoulder, and Koutarou gives him another absentminded nip on his earlobe. Keiji tries not to laugh at the bizarre movement. “Are you sure you want me to help Fukurodani?” he mumbles instead. “We could just stay in bed for the rest of our lives. Tetsurou and Kenma will have jobs and we’ll…”

“... get fat?” Koutarou says.

Keiji does laugh at that. “We’d have to go on a diet,” he says.

Koutarou squints, searching Keiji’s eyes. “Are you sick?”

He peers down at Keiji with such an adorably confounded expression that Keiji suddenly isn’t sure if he feels warm and fuzzy or too hot to breathe, but there’s no solution but to launch forward and kiss Koutarou as hard as he possibly can, crushing his lips to Koutarou’s own with all the force he can muster.

Koutarou responds with a fluid reactivity that bowls Keiji off his feet.

Koutarou’s strong arms come up under Keiji’s thighs to lift him up, positioning him carefully so Keiji is surrounded by his wings, like a protective gesture. Keiji gasps and clutches at his back, hands sliding between the feathers. He grabs wildly, tugging, the feathers sliding between his fingers.

Koutarou growls like he does when Keiji pulls at his hair, so it must not hurt. Keiji allows himself to tilt his head back and let Koutarou nip and bite in the crook of his neck with a ferocious sort of gentleness, rolling his hips against Koutarou’s chest.

He can’t _breathe_. He feels dizzy and overwhelmed and it’s not nearly enough.

“I want to fuck you,” Keiji wheezes.

Koutarou pulls away to gauge if Keiji is really into this or if this is some kind of misguided penance for their fight. He seems satisfied by Keiji’s eager look, because he does as he’s asked, tugging Keiji so that they’re better positioned for sex, eyes blazing and wings flaring out above them both.

“ _Yes_ ,” Keiji breathes, so hopelessly aroused. There’s something so beautiful, powerful about Koutarou, the light spilling over him like liquid gold, dripping over those muscles, those _eyes_ , those wings.

Keiji tugs at the feathers in a haze. The wings are massive, spreading over them like they could blot out the entire world, feathers fanning out around them. They buzz with raw power, so soft and so animal and so _Koutarou_ and Keiji feels drunk on it all, moaning as he pulls Koutarou in with one leg.

“Lube,” he moans. He’s so hard. So, _so hard._ He wonders if this is what people feel like when he hits them with his pheromones, like they’re combusting from the inside, mindlessly aroused. “I want to fuck you, _please_.”

Koutarou doesn’t have to be told twice, fumbling with the drawer to get lube. “Condom?” he asks.

Keiji shakes his head. No. He wants to see his cum dripping from Koutarou, wants to see how utterly _his_ this angel above him is.

The lube drops into his lap and then Koutarou’s fingers are politely tugging at the button of his jeans. “Yes,” Keiji groans. “ _Yes_.”

Koutarou tugs his jeans off in one go, and then shoves his own down in a heap while Keiji struggles out of his shirt.

Keiji’s fingers shake as he pours lube under them and he can’t swallow as he lowers his hand between Koutarou’s frankly terrifying thighs, but as he presses one finger in, Koutarou’s eyes slip closed and he lets out a rumbling, deep noise. Keiji’s breath stops in his chest anyway, so it doesn’t matter how dry his throat is. “Gods,” he whispers, head spinning. “Gods you’re so beautiful.”

Koutarou lets out a sound almost like purring, and Keiji adds a finger. Luckily, with Koutarou they can be a little hastier. Keiji is liable to panic when he’s bottoming. Koutarou is eager and ready for anything.

Keiji does his best to stretch him well, though, but in the end, it’s Koutarou who bats his hand away. “I’m fine,” he says. “Come on. I want you inside me.”

“Do it,” Keiji gasps. “Do it.”

And Koutarou does, perching over him and positioning himself before sliding back. Keiji nearly blacks out, so heated from the idea of it all, from the wings encompassing both of them and it’s _his it’s his it’s all his_ and Koutarou is tight around him, neck twisting back and feathers shuddering and rustling as he sinks down.

Keiji slides his fingers up through the feathers and Koutarou shudders. Keiji does his best to find the spots that get him to moan, but he finds himself just palming the wings desperately as Koutarou does all the work, bouncing on Keiji’s cock in a pace that’s both heated and slow.

Keiji whimpers. He can’t _breathe_.

“More, more, please, I’m so close,” he says, toes curling and knee pressing into Koutarou’s back.

Koutarou speeds up and Keiji nearly sobs, just barely remembering to grab at Koutarou’s cock, moving his hand jerkily along the shaft before it just gets to be too much and he’s crying out and clutching at the wings again.

“Koutarou, _Koutarou!”_ he cries, as his orgasm hits him hard and white hot, his body clenching and shuddering through the waves of pleasure.

The next thing he knows, he’s laying back, a few feathers tumbling out of his hands, Koutarou slumped over him, breathing hard as he jerks himself off. Keiji swallows, his tongue feeling like a numb lump in his mouth, and moves his hand up to help out with disordered strokes.

Koutarou’s breath whooshes out of him, and after a few strokes he’s coming too, splattering over Keiji’s chest.

“I pulled out a few of your feathers,” Keiji says, after they’ve both collapsed back onto the bed.

“Didn’t hurt,” Koutarou says, fumbling for a while until he’s gotten one wing under Keiji, letting him nestle into the warm down feathers inside it. “You really like ‘em, huh?”

“Yes,” Keiji says. “I think I blacked out.”

“Yeah,” Koutarou says, grinning. “Sure was hot to watch.”

Keiji smiles, then winces when he feels the cum dripping down his chest. Somehow in the heat of the moment when the world is only Koutarou and therefore always safe and pleasant, he always forgets what will feel gut-wrenchingly humiliating and awful once it stops.  “Shower,” he mumbles.

“Gotcha,” Koutarou says, and he grabs their clothes before bouncing back. He helps Keiji into his boxers and then wraps him in his wings so that no one can see him as Koutarou carries him to the bathroom, babbling about honeybees as they walk.

Koutarou shuffles back out of his jeans, but he doesn’t ask Keiji to take off his boxers before they get in the shower.

It turns out to be quite the challenge to get both of them into the shower with Koutarou’s wings, and before one or both of them slips and potentially hurts themselves, Keiji ends up sitting down. The motion ends up putting his face in places where he doesn’t generally like his face to be, but Koutarou slides his way down before it can get frightening. The cum, at least, has washed off.

“You ok?” Koutarou asks, after a while, soggy wings enclosing Keiji.

Keiji nods. Koutarou is quiet, thumbing at the mark Sakusa’s knife left, brow furrowing. Keiji swallows, but after a little while, he shrugs off his own wet boxers, letting them fall to the side with a heavy plop.

“I won’t be mad if you don’t help Fukurodani,” Koutarou says.

Keiji takes a deep breath that feels sweet but also on the edge of painful, like his lungs are startled by the idea of operating properly again after almost two days of panic. “I think I can handle it,” he says. He rubs at his temple. “Though I can’t imagine what they expect me to do. I’m hardly a strategist.”

Koutarou cocks his head.

“I’m not.”

Koutarou shrugs. “I don’t know,” he says. “I think they just need… like… an adult.”

“Don’t make it sound like I’m babysitting,” Keiji says.

Koutarou makes a face, clearly trying not to show that he thinks it’s babysitting.

“Are you,” Keiji says, slowly, watching with some degree of fascination, “trying to lie?”

“I can lie!” Koutarou blurts.

Keiji stares at him. “Do it,” he says, trying not to grin. “Lie.”

Koutarou’s face goes a ridiculous shade of pink. “I’ve lied before! You’ve seen me lie before!”

It’s only a matter of time before Koutarou realizes what he’s saying, and Keiji intends to milk it. “Say the sky is green,” Keiji says.

“Keiji! I swear I can lie!”

“Show me!”

“I don’t wanna!”

Keiji just stares, grinning.

“Wait,” Koutarou says, face swinging up into the flattest look Keiji has ever seen on him. “If I couldn’t lie then saying I can lie would be a lie so I’d be lying.” Then a frowns. “Wait no but if I am lying I’m not lying but…”

Keiji tries his best to hide his laugh, but it doesn’t work well.

Koutarou glares down at him with a small pout. “You’re mean,” he says. “This is why they want you for a babysitter.”

Keiji sighs. “Fine. I’m a babysitter,” he says. He mulls it over, then groans.

“Hm?” Koutarou says, switching off the water. Keiji tugs aside the curtain, and Koutarou shivers. “Crap it’s cold.”

The air outside isn’t any colder than usual. Keiji frowns, feeling his head. He’s not feverish. He tries to think over things. “This has been happening since you started growing wings, hasn’t it?”

“What?”

“You’ve been getting colder and colder whenever you’re wet.”

Koutarou gnaws at his lip. “Yeah, I think so.”

“I’ll ask Yachi-san about it soon. Until then, come on,” he says, dragging Koutarou out of the tub. He towels the wings dry first, while Koutarou curls them around himself as he pouts down at Keiji, shivering. Keiji grabs a hair drier from the cabinet and carries it with him back to their room, letting Koutarou spread out his still slightly dripping wings.

It takes some work, but he manages to get Koutarou wrapped in a blanket in such a way that his wings are still out. He slides his fingers into the feathers, spreading them carefully so he can blow them dry efficiently. “Better?” he asks.

Koutarou nods. “Why’d you groan earlier?” he asks, falling back into Keiji’s arms and nestling his head against Keiji’s shoulder.

Keiji sighs. “I just thought of something.” Koutarou tilts his head, so he continues. “I… well, I realized it may not be the best to go into Fukurodani blind and… we only know one person who’s familiar with them.”

Koutarou tilts his head further.

“Tendou-san,” Keiji mumbles.

“Ohhhh,” Koutarou says, though it’s obvious he’s still thinking about who that might be. “Oh! The weird looking guy.”

Keiji pulls back to look at him. Tendou is… sort of odd looking, yes. Notably non-human with his too round eyes and odd movements. But Koutarou, with his hooked nose and slightly slitted pupils and the odd ways he’s started cocking his head sometimes… well, he hardly has any right to talk. “Yes,” he says slowly. “I suppose.”

“He seemed ok,” Koutarou says.

Of course, Koutarou had only met him at his most subdued, following several disasters. But he’s not _wrong_ , per se. Keiji sighs. “He’s not terrible,” Keiji murmurs. “But I don’t particularly trust him. He did torture Oik--Tooru.”

“Oh,” Koutarou says. “I thought we were over that. Tooru’s like… pen pals with him.”

“That is because Tooru is a lunatic.”

Koutarou mulls that over for a moment. “That’s true.” He twists to look Keiji in the eyes. “You sure you’re ok with this?”

Keiji nods. He doesn’t feel nearly as conflicted about things now that everything is in the open and… he _had_ seen multiple children in Fukurodani. It’s not their fault Koutarou had gotten caught up in things with such unfortunate timing, and only festering guilt and anger had managed to obscure that fact.

“I’m sure,” he says.

-X-

“You want me to _what?_ ” Tendou says, once Keiji has gotten him seated at the Institute’s kitchen table. He looks ready to laugh at the fact that Keiji even dared to ask.

“I’m their leader now,” Keiji repeats. “I’d rather not go in blind.”

Tendou cackles, though there’s an easy-to-miss tiredness in it. “I don’t know if you noticed, but I don’t really _like_ them. What do I care if their stupid rules are finally bitin’ ‘em in the ass? What do _you_ care? C’mon, they tried to kill lover boy there, aren’t you pissed?” He jerks his head towards Koutarou, who is leaning against the fridge. “Nice wings, by the way, can you fly with ‘em?”

“I will be able to!” Koutarou blurts.

Tendou squints at him in a way that does not make Keiji feel very confident about the fact that this won’t end with Koutarou in a slump. For some reason, he seems to be sensitive about still being grounded. “ _Lover boy_ wants me to help them,” he interjects, quickly. “I’m sure you understand wanting to do right by the people we care about.”

Tendou’s head swivels back around to look at Keiji. The way he moves truly is decidedly unnerving. He narrows his eyes, falling back. “Kei-chan,” he says, the lilt in his voice very similar to the one Tooru had used all the time before everything. Keiji is much more annoyed by it in Tendou’s nasally drawl. “Come on. If you’re going to try to manipulate me into helping you out of sympathy, it’s not _me_ you should be drawing parallels to.”

Keiji narrows his eyes. “I prefer not to think about the things Eita and I have in common.”

Tendou’s eyes go sharp, but he doesn’t stop grinning. “Yeah? I guess you try not to come off as such a mess, right? Too good for Semi-semi’s level.”

“That’s not…” Keiji starts, though it’s uncomfortably true, and as usual, Tendou _knows that_. He’d meant, mostly, their shared trauma, but he can’t say that he _likes_ knowing how close he came to being Eita. He likes the idea of Tendou potentially helping him because he _sees_ Eita in Keiji even less.

“Wait,” Koutarou says, brows furrowed. He likely hasn’t even been listening to this conversation. “I get that you have problems with ‘em,” he says slowly. “I don’t really like going near my family either, but… like… I wouldn’t let ‘em die, you know?”

Tendou’s lethal grin slides off his face. “Die?” he says, looking at Koutarou with a frown.

“Apparently they’re being picked off by some sort of shadowy organization of humans or somesuch,” Keiji sighs. He doubts Tendou is particularly bothered by death, so long as it’s not the death of someone he’s committed too.

Tendou’s chair clacks as he stops leaning back on it and sits to attention. “Shit,” he says. “No wonder Kiyoomi was so on edge.”

Keiji raises his eyebrow.

“I mean… Killing people is… maybe a lot,” Tendou mumbles, glancing at Koutarou. The shame doesn’t last long and he groans. “I _knew_ a bunch of people were missing.”

“Technically, Konoha says they’re taking people,” Koutarou clarifies. “But if they never come back, I just have a bad feeling.”

Tendou flinches. “Konoha Akinori?”

Koutarou pauses for a moment, then nods. “I think so. With the glasses.”

“Not to be morbid,” Tendou says, turning to Keiji. “But those guys are definitely dead. Akinori doesn’t really… register death too well.”

Keiji raises an eyebrow, but he leans forward to listen.

“I mean, the guy’s eyes kill people,” Tendou mutters, and Keiji wonders how terrible something must be to get Tendou squeamish.  “He always talked like he was just hangin’ out with us ‘cause it was too awkward for him on the surface. You know, scales and all. But he’d tell us all about his family and his brother going to school and shit… anyway, Kiyoomi ‘specially didn’t believe a human family could be that understanding. Always called me a liar about my family, too.”

Keiji crosses his arms, frowning. He knows Koutarou probably wants him to try to see _something_ positive about Sakusa, but he’s feeling oddly relieved that so far there seems to be nothing of the sort.

“Anyway, I dragged Kiyoomi out one day and we hunted down Akinori’s family,” Tendou continues. Keiji watches him, already suspecting where this is going. He’s not happy about it at all. “No family. Just graves. He wiped out all of ‘em, pretty sure, and I don’t think he even remembers.”

Keiji’s stomach twists.

“He seemed happy,” Koutarou whispers.

“He is, I think,” Tendou says. “I mean… I don’t know. He acts way too much like a kid for someone as good at shit as him, but he needs it, I think.”

There’s a long silence.

“I guess I could make a list of what I know,” Tendou says, focused on where he’s scratching at the table studiously. “I don’t know any of the new people or anything but… Wings is right. I mean… these people saved me from bleedin’ out in the woods, I don’t want anything _terrible_ to happen to them.” He mulls that over. “Not _too_ terrible anyway. Like, they could get fleas, maybe.”

“Thank you,” Keiji murmurs, though now more than ever he feels like vastly the wrong person for the job. Still, he has to at least _try_. Perhaps there is something they can do. And, though he’s not proud of the thought, at the very least he can get them off the task of trying to get his help.

-X-

“So,” Tendou says, a suspiciously short time after Koutarou has fallen asleep in one of the armchairs. Keiji’s fingers hurt from all the notes he’s made about the seemingly endless rules Fukurodani has, but he looks up politely anyway. “Is he for real?”

Keiji follows his gnarled finger to Koutarou as he snores softly. “I certainly hope so,” he murmurs.

Tendou snorts, leaning back. “Sorry I pushed ya earlier,” he says. “‘Bout the Eita thing.”

Keiji does not want to have this conversation. But he sighs and shoves himself towards compromise, because it’s quiet and Koutarou is adorable as he uses his own wing as a blanket. “You weren’t wrong,” he admits, going back to his notes to read over them again.

“Yeah,” Tendou says, wriggling awkwardly. “Eita’s scared of being Eita too. Shouldn’t have lorded it over ya.”

Now he absolutely feels too exposed, but it’s too late to back up now. “I’m sure if you were trying to get me back to where _I_ grew up, I’d do worse,” Keiji says.

That gets him a moment’s quiet, before Tendou mutters a reluctant, “They weren’t terrible.” After a moment, he adds, “Not even Kiyoomi.”

Now Keiji feels supremely betrayed, but there’s no way to ask someone reminiscing about their childhood to demonize someone for Keiji’s benefit, so he just mumbles noncommittally at that.

“He was born there,” Tendou says. “Grew up getting told all the time about how the rules are what keep us safe and how the world up there is terrible. He’s never met a human that didn’t want to kill him, I don’t think.” He drums his fingers on the table. “Bet he’s never seen a sunset. That’s gotta be shit.”

“I don’t particularly care,” Keiji huffs.

Tendou snorts. “Right,” he says. “I get it.” After a little while longer, he adds, “He is pretty much a shithead, though, if it makes you feel any better. Full of himself.”

“Unlike Ushijima-san,” Keiji mutters.

Tendou laughs at that, though for a split second he seems like he hovers over snapping back at Keiji for it. “Yeah, kinda,” he admits, leaning back in his chair. “I don’t know. Kiyoomi always wanted to defeat people. He wanted to be on top, maybe ‘cause he figured no one else could do being on top as good as him. Waka just kinda started at the top and he doesn’t know how to be anything else. If he’d been left alone as a kid I bet he’d have just stayed alone. Gotten really into a gardening. He loves gardening.”

Keiji underlines something in his notes. Shithead or not, Tendou is still getting dangerously close to humanizing Sakusa. Keiji is not ready to hear it. “Is Eita alright with the fact that you’re in love with Ushijima-san as well as him?”

The chair slides out from under Tendou with a clatter. Koutarou snorts, and Keiji looks up, listening to his breathing and deciding how annoyed he should be at Tendou for the racket.

Koutarou snores, dozing back off, so Keiji goes back to his notes while Tendou skitters back onto the table. “ _You’ve_ got more than one boyfriend too!”

“And it took some discussion,” Keiji says calmly. “Also, please keep your voice down, Koutarou is sleeping.”

Tendou pulls his chair back up and flops into it. “Um,” he says. “Yeah, shit’s weird, with me an’ Eita. I don’t know how to bring it up.” He sighs, resting his chin on his arms as he crosses them. “I feel like he’d either freak entirely and think everything’s a lie again or he’d just… want Waka too? You know, more safety is better, right?”

Keiji hums. He certainly doesn’t mind being in the middle of both Tetsurou and Koutarou’s embrace, nestled in warmth and muscles. And generally, with Kenma’s bed closer to the door, it makes it nearly impossible for anyone to get near them without Kenma snapping them in two.

“Gods, and that’s not even going into how _Waka_ is. I mean… he just doesn’t get this shit at all, and I think it scares him a little and…”

Keiji gnaws at his pen, not even looking up.

“Shit was easier when I just figured they’d end up together and kick me into a dumpster or something,” Tendou says.

“People _died_ ,” Keiji reminds him.

“I _knooow_ ,” Tendou moans, dropping his head even lower and lacing his arms over his head.

“I’m certain you’ll figure it out,” Keiji says. “If not, and everything falls apart, I’m certain the Iwaizumis will still gladly kick you into a dumpster.”

“Thanks,” Tendou mutters.

“I live to please.”

Tendou grins. “You suck, but I like you.”

Keiji looks up at that. “Thank you,” he says, almost honestly.

-X-

Keiji sighs. This entire situation is ridiculous.

He kicks into the hedge randomly. There’s a sharp yelp, and then the girl pops up. She seems to be a sickly shade of green, and Keiji isn’t sure if the leaves on her face are sticking to her or growing out of her.

“What,” she says as he stares at her, trying to figure it out. “You’re not too pretty either.”

“I…” Keiji says, narrowing his eyes. For a moment he forgets that he doesn’t even particularly _like_ being called pretty in his sudden desire to argue with her just for being a _pain_. He closes his eyes and takes a breath. “I. Have conditions.”

She squints at him. “Huh?”

“I’ll help you, but I have conditions.”

“Oh,” she says. “Wait, did those shitheads actually manage to kidnap your boyfriend?”

“ _What?_ ” Keiji growls.

“Nothing,” she says quickly. “Anyway. Conditions?” She absently spits out a leaf.

Keiji stares at her. “Have you been _eating_ our hegde?”

“Well, it’s not like there’s much else for me to eat out here!” she says, waving her arms around to demonstrate.

“You…” He shakes his head. “Nevermind. First of all, what’s your name?”

She crosses her arms. “Shirofuku Yukie.” She makes a face. “But just call me Yukie.”

“Right. Listen, Yukie, I’ll come and help, and I will do my best to make sure you’re all safe, but I’m not a part of Fukurodani. I live _here_ and I’ll only be down in the sewers in the mornings and early afternoons.”

“But…” Yukie starts.

“Non-negotiable. I’m not the one who started this mess, and I’m only helping because the rest of your people managed to get Koutarou’s sympathy.”

“Oh, and he’s telling you what to do?” she drawls. “What are you, his...?”

Keiji’s stomach drops through his feet. He has heard far too many words that could fit right into the end of that sentence and he doesn’t intend to hear any of them again. He doesn’t even particularly remember stepping forward until he’s grabbing her face and pulling her up. “Do not finish that sentence,” he says, his whole being feeling oddly hollow.

She freezes.

“Don’t _ever_ imply anything like that about me again,” he snarls. “ _Ever._ ”

“Ok ok,” she says, holding her hands up, eyes wide. “Jeez. I wouldn’t have said anything if I knew it was a sore spot.”

Keiji drops her, swallowing hard.

“Anyway, I just wanted to say that you coming and going is gonna attract attention,” she says.

Keij’s heart seems to have transplanted itself into his ears. “Lev,” he mumbles. “Lev is… we have a teleporter. We’ll get in and out without being seen.”

“Alright,” she says, as though gauging how cruel to be with him when he’s slowly doubling over, hands on his knees as he tries to breathe. After a moment, she seems to decide that he’s still fair game, which he’s oddly grateful for. However, she decides to get in his face by bending over to stare at him, which he is less grateful for. “When are ya coming? Huh? Oh, and could you bring food? We’ve got guys watching all our usual dives so we’ve been pretty short on anything that’s not rat.”

Keiji nearly pukes.

“You’re not gonna pass out again, are ya?” she asks.

“I’m _fine_ ,” he growls.

“Sweet. How about that food?”

“ _Sure_.”

“Thanks, man,” she says, and withdraws. “Tomorrow? You comin’ tomorrow? Oh man, I’m telling everyone.”

Keiji manages to straighten up. “I hate you,” he says.

“Oh man,” she chuckles. “If you can’t handle me, you’re gonna have a _great_ time with the others.” She hops over the hedge and vanishes around the corner.

“I didn’t _want this_ ,” he yells after her. He sighs. He’s not looking forward to any of this at all, but he has to admit, it’s no longer Koutarou’s disappointment that worries him when he thinks of backing out.

-X-

“I feel like we’re shopping for our children,” Keiji murmurs. He’d managed to talk Ukai into giving him a small allowance to take food for Fukurodani, and Koutarou had… well, budgeted it. He’d actually done a fairly good job, though he suspects Tetsurou had put several words in about nutrition, because Tetsurou’s doctor scrawl is all over the grocery list Koutarou had made.

“I wanna be the mom,” Koutarou says. He looks like the world’s most ridiculous hunchback in his coat and sunglasses, but it’s early enough no one will notice but the sleepy cashier.

“You’re not the…” Keiji says, then sighs. “We’re both men, Koutarou.”

“So?”

“So, neither of us is the mother,” Keiji says. “And we’re _not parents_. They’re a _gang_.”

“Look, I’ll admit eye stabbing is a pretty creative way of childbirth,” Koutarou says, lumping several bags of cheap rice into their cart, “but children are a serious responsibility that I am prepared for. And I’d make a great mother.”

Keiji glares at him. “I hang out with you too much,” he says. “You’re starting to learn sarcasm.”

Koutarou grins and pokes his cheek affectionately. “What’s the next item?”

Keiji sighs, turning back to the list as he leans on the cart. “Eggs.”

Koutarou pushes him away from the cart and leaps onto it, pushing it along.

“Stop drawing attention to yourself!” he calls after him.

“Alright, alright,” Koutarou mutters, slowing the cart down. “This sucks. My wings are super cramped in this coat too.”

“Better than becoming some sort of test subject,” Keiji points out.

Koutarou blows a raspberry at him. Not being able to jog in the mornings has gotten him antsy, though it hasn’t really shown until now, when he’s finally leaving the house, only to have Kenma and Keiji wrestle him into a trench coat. “Anyway, when are we going tomorrow?”

“I’m taking Kenma,” Keiji murmurs, picking up an egg carton to inspect it.

“Ok but–” Koutarou says, but it dawns on him quickly. “You don’t want me there?”

“Not until I have a better hold on the situation, no,” Keiji says. He avoids looking at Koutarou, but his stomach is in knots. He doesn’t want to fight again. He’s _terrified_ of fighting again.

“C’mon, Keiji,” Koutarou mumbles. “I already hung out with them once, they’re not dangerous.”

“Really?” Keiji sighs, looking up at him finally. “Because the last time you were down there Kenma had to bridal carry you out.”

“But…” Koutarou says.

“ _Please_ let me get a grip on this situation before you come with me,” Keiji groans. “Please?”

Koutarou huffs, though it sounds suspiciously like a hoot, crossing his arms onto the cart’s handle and burying his face in it. “I guess,” he mutters.

“Besides, you wanted to practice flying,” Keiji says. “You can’t do that in the sewers.”

“I _guess_ ,” Koutarou says, a little louder.

Keiji kisses his cheek. “We won’t be apart long.”

“I _knooooow_ ,” Koutarou warbles, getting a funny look from the cashier. He goes quiet. “I know,” he whispers.

“Thank you.”

“Just take care of yourself, ok?” Koutarou says.

Keiji slides a hand under his coat, scratching at the feathers he can feel. “I will.” His voice comes out satisfyingly confident, but Keiji, to be honest, is not at all sure where this is going or how much he likes the idea of it.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week: The totally self-indulgent Tooru chapter that we didn't *really* need but hell. Why not.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m not trying to knock myself out all the time!” Tooru protests, scowling into the cinnamon roll. “I just don’t always know where my new limits are and they’re all… frustratingly close.”
> 
> “And you just hit them hard,” Hajime says. “So no testing until you feel better.”
> 
> “I know,” Tooru huffs. “I wasn’t gonna.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He's back!
> 
> God I'm so tired.

Tooru takes a deep breath. 

There are two things he could be doing now. One is the very stupid thing he no doubt would have done without hesitation only a few years ago. The other is the slightly humiliating but much better thing to do.

In a way, this is even more frustrating than when he blew out his knee. At least when he’d blown out his knee, he could do as he liked, it just…  _ hurt _ . Now, though, the only thing stopping him from using his (almost) perfectly good legs is his own brain. 

Part of him wants to keep trying to walk back to bed. The other part knows that he’s just going to give himself a headache, at best, and fall over and brain himself on something at worst.

He lets a breath out through his gritted teeth, and uses his white knuckled grip on the bathroom sink to lower himself back down to the floor, crawling over to open the door. He struggles to swallow hot tears of shame as he calls, “Iwa-chan!”

In only a few moments, Hajime rushes from the kitchen and is by his side with terrifying speed. “You alright? Are you hurt?”

Tooru’s frustration must show on his face more than he’d thought, because Hajime is looking at him with suffocating concern. “I can’t stand up,” he says weakly, rubbing at his eyes.

“Alright, it’s fine,” Hajime says, slightly relieved. He slips closer, gently sliding his arms under Tooru’s knees. “Let’s get you back to bed, huh?”

“I don’t  _ want _ to go back to bed!” Tooru snaps. The shampoo and soap on the edge of the bathtub clatters into the drain. Hajime pauses, letting Tooru take a deep breath and close his eyes. “I’ve been in bed for days, and it’s making me feel…” There’s something terrible about being bedridden again, when it’s not so long ago that he’d been bedridden because his mind was still in tatters, unsure if he was even really there or what parts of his body he could feel.

Hajime nods. He already knows exactly what it is that Tooru can’t say. Last night he’d been nothing but tantrums. This morning he’d woken up screaming. “Ok. What do you wanna do? Want to help in the kitchen?”

Tooru sighs. “Yeah.”

Hajime pulls him in, carrying him to the kitchen and setting him on the counter. His hands are soft on Tooru’s sides, steadying him as Tooru shifts so he’s sitting straight. “Can you stay up?” Tooru nods. “Alright, then hand me some curry powder, alright?”

Tooru pulls open the cabinet behind him and tugs the curry power out. He might use his powers to jiggle it in his direction a little, but that’s not enough to give him another migraine. Hajime seems to notice anyway, from the severe glance he gives Tooru. Tooru blows a faint raspberry at him.

Helping cook makes him feel less broken, but he’s still itching to stretch his legs. Insofar as he’s able to stretch his legs now that he’s worn himself out with a sum total of two favors. Sure, cloaking an entire amusement park for hours was a big endeavor, he’d known that from the get go, but he hadn’t expected it to end with him unable to stand up for  _ days _ .

He glares down at his uncooperative legs and shaky hands. He wants this fallout to go  _ away _ already so he can  _ do things _ .

“Stop,” Hajime says, tasting his curry. “You’re just making it worse, tearing yourself up like that. You  _ need _ the rest.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t want to be  _ stuck _ in rest.”

Hajime raises his eyebrow. His thoughts cut off suddenly, and Tooru cocks his head at that. Hajime only ever hides his thoughts when they’re about gifts and surprises. “What?” Tooru says with an eager grin.

“Greedy,” Hajime says, pinching his side. Tooru can’t move well enough to evade him and he knows it. “You’ll find out.”

“Aww, but Hajimeeeee,” Tooru whines, even though he feels better already, just the excitement enough to shake him out of the melancholy of being bedridden for days. 

“Nope,” Hajime laughs, steadying Tooru as he almost falls from the counter with his eager shifting. “Eat up and take a nap, alright? You’re wilting.”

Tooru blows a more defined raspberry at him, but he does as Hajime asks. Though he takes his nap on the couch for good measure, because the idea of going back to bed when his ability to use his own body has been cutting in and out for days fills him with a sort of horror that’s hard to comprehend.

When he wakes, he can hear Kenma’s soft voice from the armchair beside him. He sits up quickly. Or, at least as quickly as he can. “Is it surprise time?”

Kenma quickly begins reciting Pokemon in his head. 

Tooru grins at Hajime. “Surprise time?” he asks again, bouncing a little on the couch.

“Yeah, yeah,” Hajime says, tossing a jacket at him. “Come on, we’re going on a walk.”

Tooru pulls on his jacket happily. Hajime has to button it for him, because his fingers are sloppy and uncoordinated. He lets Kenma and Hajime pull him to his feet and start helping him down the stairs. He walks slower than a ninety year old man, even  _ with _ the help, but he’s just glad to be further from his bed as he’s been this whole week. Hajime has been doing his best to keep the windows open for fresh air, but it’s not the same as going outside and stretching his legs.

They get to the Institute after a grueling forty minutes of Tooru’s clumsy, unbalanced shuffling, and Hajime has to pick him up once they’re inside the gate anyway, because Tooru’s worn brain has decided that that’s enough communicating with his legs for one day. Kenma has looped through all the Mario brothers characters and is now reciting Dragon Age characters in his thoughts.

Hajime carries him around back, where the backyard has been lined with what seems like a thousand exercise mats, and there’s a barricade of furniture in the middle of them. Before Tooru can parse that, everything is filled with feathers, including, somehow, his mouth and nose.

Kenma dives away with a grimace before he’s enveloped as well.

“Hey, Tooru!” Koutarou cries, wrapping both arms and wings around Tooru and Hajime. “I heard cabin fever was gettin’ to ya. Don’t worry, I made you the most amazing cinnamon rolls and you can hang out here and watch me wipe out a bunch! I almost managed something like turn? Though I think that might have been me falling out of a glide but like… to the side.”

Tooru chuckles, snuggling into Hajime’s chest. “Thank you, Kou-chan, that sounds lovely.”

Koutarou nuzzles his nose against Tooru’s cheek, seemingly unaware that he’s doing it, and scampers off.

“Um,” says a voice behind Hajime’s elbow. Its owner is wringing her hands.“Hi. I think we’ve met before, but um… you probably don’t remember me, but I’m…”

“Suga-chan’s ex!” Tooru cries. “Did you hear he got arrested?”

Yachi’s face crumples. Her anxiety is deafening, but at least she’s adorable. “Yes,” she says. She brightens quickly. “Though I think he’s finally texting that cop friend of his, so that’s good!”

“Oooh,” Tooru sings. “Really?”

“Alright, you can gossip while sitting on the ground,” Hajime grumbles, plopping Tooru down on a blanket they’d laid down on the grass for him. The cinnamon rolls are in a basket beside him, so he takes one and starts munching him.

“Oh!” Yachi says, realizing that Koutarou has climbed on top of the barricade. “Hold on, I said I’d coach him. Remember, Koutarou-kun, you need to steer with…”

She doesn’t get to finish before Koutarou is landing on his face, rolling along the mats in a delightfully clumsy flurry of feathers and wings. Tooru nearly spits out the bite he took as he laughs. Hajime sighs as he sits down next to Tooru. “I thought this would be the sort of thing you’d enjoy, you asshole.”

“Thank you,” Tooru whispers, kissing the angle of Hajime’s jaw. “This is lovely.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Hajime says, letting Tooru settle with his head in Hajime’s lap. “I thought you might need to get out of the house a little. Don’t you dare push it, though, you hear? I’m watching you.”

“I’m not  _ trying _ to knock myself out all the time!” Tooru protests, scowling into the cinnamon roll. “I just don’t always know where my new limits are and they’re all… frustratingly close.”

“And you just hit them hard,” Hajime says. “So no testing until you feel better.”

“I  _ know _ ,” Tooru huffs. “I wasn’t  _ gonna _ .”

Hajime kisses his forehead. “Of course not.”

Tooru munches petulantly, squirming until his head is firmly in Hajime’s lap. Hajime nestles his hand in Tooru’s hair, massaging his scalp lazily. 

Tooru settles back, trying to focus on Hajime and Yachi’s thoughts rather than Koutarou’s, since Koutarou’s intense concentration on his wings is just a migraine waiting to happen.

He tries to offer as much advice as he can. Koutarou’s wings are clumsy, clearly moving unevenly and not entirely in the direction Koutarou means for them to move. It doesn’t help that Koutarou is far too easy to distract.

As he leaps from his barricade for the umpteenth time, pulling into an unstable glide, he manages a sloppy hover for the first time, flapping wildly. He lets out a startled, excited noise that sounds charmingly like an owl’s hoot, and then promptly tips back after one of his wings gives a harder flap thea the other, and falls on his ass.

“Kou-chan!” Tooru calls. “You’re not... “ He struggles to sit up, with only subtle push from Hajime. “Your wings aren’t coordinated.”

The noise that Koutarou gives out this time is definitely a hoot, followed by a bewildered head tilt that implies far more neck flexibility than a human should have. 

“You’re moving one more than the other,” Hajime adds. “I think you’re right-winged.”

Koutarou sits back, flexing his wings experimentally. “Huh,” he says. “Do owls have that?”

“Well,” Yachi says. “Um. Maybe a little. I don’t know. Owl chicks usually just learn to fly by trial and error too, though, so…”

“How long does that take them?” Koutarou asks.

“About… 4 to 10 weeks,” she says. “Depending on species.”

Koutarou falls back with an agonized whine. “That’s foreverrrrrr.”

“Well,” Yachi says, wringing her hands as she tries to think of something comforting to say. “I think you’re doing good? So maybe you’ll be faster.”

The only response is a mournful hoot. 

“Come on, Kou-chan, you’re doing great,” Tooru calls. “You hovered!”

Koutarou sits up with a miserable look. Suddenly the frustration that had been building around him like a dark cloud condenses into something sticky and heavy, bubbling up with enough force that it nearly gives Tooru a nosebleed. “I’m giving up,” Koutarou says. “This is impossible and I have a bruise on the tip of my elbow.” He shows Tooru the bruise with watery eyes. 

“Hajime,” Tooru says. “Go.”

Hajime, fortunately, understands exactly what he means, slipping out from under Tooru and walking over to Koutarou with firm, long strides. He grabs Koutarou from behind, hauling him up onto his feet. “Come on,” he says. “One more time, then you can give up.”

“No,” Koutarou says, with a small warble. “I’m never gonna fly and everything is terrible.”

“Come on,” Hajime says. “One more time, then you can give up.”

“And we’ll get you ice cream,” Tooru offers.

Koutarou’s left wing gives a feeble twitch. “Ice cream?” he says, still slumped in Hajime’s arms. The words seemed to have poked a small hole in the boundless amounts of devastation that have just collapsed onto Koutarou. Enough to give him a lifeline with which to struggle out of it.

“One more,” Hajime says, in that gruff but still soft way he does.

“Ok,” Koutarou says, sniffling as he clambers onto the barricade once more. The way that he drags himself up with all the eagerness of a dog being pulled into a bath is decidedly comical. And, as Tooru had suspected since the amusement park, intentionally so. Koutarou himself feels heavy and miserable, but the shame seems to be less if he can play it off.

Still, he stands up, taking a few bold breaths of air, and leaps. He manages to do a graceful curl in the air, and in a better mood no doubt he would have taken advantage of it, possibly enough so to swoop upwards and fly properly, but instead he tries to hover again. He stays up for one, two, three flaps and then he unbalances himself again, falling in a wild heap of stray limbs.

“That was good!” Hajime says, jogging over to help him up. 

“Was it?” Koutarou asks pitifully. 

“Great!” Tooru yells. “That curl at the start was  _ very  _ elegant!”

Koutarou’s eyes meet his, and for a moment Tooru wishes Koutarou didn’t know that Tooru knows what Koutarou feels like right now. How much strength it takes to grab onto each and every compliment to drag himself out of a cloud of emotion that strangles him. How silly he feels about needing them.

“Do I get ice cream now?” Koutarou says with a sniffle, looking away from Tooru’s gaze and instead fixing Hajime with a ridiculous pout.

“I’ll get you some,” Yachi says, clearly noticing that there’s some tension in the air.

Hajime looks back and forth between Tooru and Koutarou. “I’ll show you where the freezer is,” he says, putting his hand on her back to guide her.

When they’re gone, Koutarou’s demeanor changes, the slightly laughable baby bird look vanishing as Koutarou sits up properly and rubs at his nose. “It’s not a masochistic thing,” he says.

Tooru nods. 

“It’s just easier to laugh it off if everyone else is already laughing,” Koutarou says. “You know, when I can’t keep up with a conversation and say something stupid or when I don’t know how to let the crap out of my brain right so it just gets stuck and angry.” He sniffs again. “I don’t know. It’s like… like uh… if you stop moving when you’re tired you can’t start again. I gotta… keep babbling and being funny and laughing and shit or it just kills me.”

“I get it,” Tooru says.

“I don’t want people to be sad about me,” Koutarou says. He seems to notice that that paints him in too good a light for how he feels at the moment, and he chuckles and adds, “And I guess I don’t like the way pity makes me feel small, either.”

“Don’t try to trick me,” Tooru says. “We all know you’re a ray of sunshine, moodswings or not.”

Koutarou laughs and falls back. “I try, man, I really do,” he says. “But it’s hard sometimes when you’re dumb and your brain’s broken.”

“You’re not dumb,” Tooru says.

“Yeah, yeah,” Koutarou sighs. He takes a long breath. “Sorry. I’m so bad with shit I’m not already a little good at. It’s exciting at first and then all the sudden I just can’t imagine it working and…” He smacks his hands together in an imitation of a faceplant. “Whap!”

“It happens to everyone,” Tooru says. “And more so to people like us, who put their hearts into everything.”

“Yeah? You ok?” Koutarou asks. He’s starting to scrape his way back to his usual status as happiness emitter, though not without effort.

Tooru sighs. “ _ Frustrated _ ,” he says. “I keep not noticing when I’ve crossed my limits and then I’m crippled again. Even when I’m careful! Sometimes I feel like it’s not even worth it to be careful.”

Koutarou’s brain is still too much of a mess to formulate a coherent thought, so he just finds a small twig on the ground to chuck at Tooru, but it’s as effective a scolding as anything he gets from Hajime, especially since he knows Koutarou is still on the verge of tears.

“I’m not serious!” Tooru cries. “I’m trying!”

Koutarou manages to sit up enough to see Tooru’s scandalized face. He laughs, and that makes Tooru laugh too. They’re still giggling when Hajime and Yachi return with ice cream, a bottle of chocolate syrup and a bag of strawberries. Koutarou shuffles closer, grabbing at the nearest container of ice cream. Tooru crawls towards him, grabbing one of the spoons Yachi had dumped on the blanket.

“Hey!” Hajime scolds. “We got  _ bowls _ , you animals. Sit up and wait for me to dish it out.” He looks at Tooru, eyes soft. “You want strawberries, you little shit?”

Tooru nods eagerly. 

Akaashi finds them all on the blanket, Koutarou on his third bowl of ice cream, Tooru’s head on Hajime’s lap and his foot in Koutarou’s as he eats strawberries, and Yachi with her head resting on Koutarou’s knee.

Akaashi’s exhaustion is evident to Tooru, but all that can be seen on his face is an utterly venomous glare. Yachi squeaks and sits up, convinced it’s a jealous glare. Koutarou eyes Akaashi’s face for a moment, but he he seems to realize, much like Tooru, that the glare is mostly just Akaashi’s face.

“How’d your day go, babe?” Koutarou asks brightly.

Akaashi stares at him, uncomprehending. “Oh,” he says, after a moment. “Terrible. Utterly terrible.”

“What happened?” Koutarou asks.

“What didn’t,” Akaashi says. “They’re terrible. They’re all… terrible.”

“Tell us how you really feel, Aka-chan,” Tooru chirps, and the fact that he knows that Akaashi’s scowl is mostly exhaustion doesn’t make it any less scary to have it bearing down on him. 

Akaashi throws himself down in front of Koutarou and crawls into his lap. Koutarou goodnaturedly lifts his ice cream bowl onto Akaashi’s head and curls his wings around him. Akaashi just opens his mouth, waiting until Koutarou notices and lowers some ice cream into it.

“I’ve mostly just been given the tour by Yukie,” Akaashi mutters. He narrows his eyes. “She’s terrible.”

“Aw, come on, they can’t be all bad,” Koutarou says. “I had fun with them at the amusement park.”

“Did you?” Akaashi sighs. “Probably because you weren’t trying to get them to listen to you. They don’t listen to anything.”

“I’m sure they’ll get used to you,” Koutarou says.

“I asked them to tell me their names,” Akaashi sighs. “And they said ‘or what?’”

Tooru bursts out laughing. Akaashi glares him down, this time intentionally. It doesn’t do much to stop him from laughing anyway. 

“Stop,” Akaashi pleads.

Tooru does his best, but he ends up laughing harder. Hajime sighs and brushes his hair back with a disappointed look, but he, too, is starting to laugh. Koutarou is grinning warily, but Akaashi pouts at him angrily and he stops, though only about halfway, looking down at Akaashi with amused care.

“Gods,” Keiji says. “I only managed to get Onaga’s name out of him because I separated him from everyone else. They were standing behind my back trying to intimidate him into staying quiet as well.”

“You just have to be more intimidating,” Tooru offers.

“That’s what I  _ did _ ,” Akaashi says, with a note of desperation. “I had to corner him in a back hallway. I think he was about to cry.” He rubs his hands over his face, then jerks them away. “And  _ Sakusa _ .”

“Eye stabby?” Koutarou asks.

“Yes, him,” Akaashi says. “He just watches me. Follows me everywhere. With his stupid… judgemental eye…”

“Just the one,” Koutarou says.

“Yes,” Akaashi sighs.

“‘Cause you stabbed out the other one.”

“Yes.” Akaashi furrows his brow at him, wondering why he’s being teased even after his miserable day.

“Let me go with you, tomorrow,” Koutarou says. “Come on, we got to hang out, they  _ like _ me. You’re just the guy who barged in and stabbed someone.”

“They  _ asked _ me to…!” Akaashi starts, but then he sighs. “Fine.”

“Really?” Koutarou says, straightening up and beaming. “I thought for sure you were gonna argue more!”

“I’m so tired,” Akaashi says. “Besides, I think the only thing they’re capable of is annoying people to death and that’s more likely to get me than you.”

Tooru chuckles. “Stay strong, Aka-chan.” He means to say more, but he recognizes a familiar thought pattern and whirls around to look for it. He grins and waves. “Yahaba-chan!” he calls.

Akaashi rolls over to stuff a strawberry into his mouth, glad to have the attention off of him so he can dissolve into Koutarou’s lap.

Yahaba makes his way to Tooru with a reluctant scowl. “Hello, Oi-Iwaizumi-san,” 

“I see you’re back,” Tooru says.

Yahaba glares at him, torn between snapping at him and avoiding saying anything, since technically he  _ was _ helpful, despite being passed exhausted. “Matsukawa-san told me stories about people accidentally seeing him naked for an hour,” he says finally. “It was terrible.”

“Imagine living them,” Hajime mutters. Tooru elbows him in the side before he can get any more tastes of those memories.

“I think he was trying to just get me so embarrassed I just looped back around and remembered how to transform again,” Yahaba says.

“Did it work,” Hajime asks, voice deadpan.

_ Of course it worked _ , Tooru thinks. Embarrassment is Mattsun’s specialty.

“Yes,” Yahaba mutters. “But I think I’m dead inside.”

“That happens around Mattsun,” Hajime says. Tooru almost laughs. It’s generally the opposite, once you’ve gotten used to Mattsun and Makki’s teasing and awful humor.

“So you’ve moved in?” Tooru asks.

“Yeah,” Yahaba sighs. “After I was gone all night, I had to come clean to my parents. They took it pretty well but they agreed I should probably be around other mutants and people who know what to do if I get stuck as a dog again.” He frowns. “Though I’m not sure Ukai-san left the best impression.”

“How are you settling in?” Tooru asks. He sort of misses being able to welcome newcomers to the Institute.

“Fine,” Yahaba says. “My roommate is alright, and the food is good.”

“Good,” Tooru says. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

Yahaba nods. “Thank you, Iwaizumi-san,” he says. 

Tooru nods, and Yahaba leaves with a small wave, leaving Tooru to watch as Akaashi starts snoring softly into Koutarou’s thigh. 

-X-

When they get home, Tooru has Hajime put him down so he can walk to the living room himself. “Ohohhh!” he cries, sinking into the nearest sofa cushion. “My legs. They listen to me sometimes.”

Hajime smiles, but he looks tired. Tooru knows that his worse days weigh on Hajime, too. “Want to just eat instant noodles and watch Godzilla until bed?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Hajime says. “Yeah, that sounds pretty good.”

“Hold on, I think I can…” Tooru says, levering himself back up. Hajime makes a face. “It’s ok, I’ll sit once I’ve put the water on. You can put the noodles in.”

Hajime sighs. “Deal.”

The action sounds simple enough, but Tooru’s body is not responding very well at all now, even after spending the day relaxing at the Institute. It takes him a while to will his shaky hands into getting a pot full of water onto the stove, and he can’t actually make it back to a chair after. He ends up sitting on the floor by the counter while Hajime stirs the noodles.

“Tell me you’re ok,” Hajime murmurs, staring at the pot. 

Tooru knows this phase. This is the phase where Hajime gets exhausted by all this too, where he starts to think back to the worst of times and gets frightened by it. 

Tooru has learned when Hajime asks him to tell him he’s ok, that’s not what he wants to hear. After all,  _ that thing _ had said it plenty.

“These are my favorite socks,” Tooru says, thumbing at the toes. “And they’re starting to wear out.”

Hajime manages a smile at that. “Sounds terrible,” he says.

“I said that just to prove I’m ok and just being my old self but now that I mention it I’m actually really upset about it,” Tooru adds, head thudding back against the counter as he looks up at Hajime.

Hajime huffs out a tired chuckle at that. He inspects Tooru’s socks. “They’re hideous.”

“I know, but they’ve got little aliens on them and they’re cute.”

“I’ll darn them for you.”

“Thank you.”

There’s a long silence as Hajime takes the noodles off the stove and puts them into dishes. “You’re not pushing yourself on purpose, right?” Hajime says. “I don’t want you hurting yourself again.”

“No,” Tooru sighs. “You know I wouldn’t do this shit to myself on purpose.”

Hajime sighs as well. “Ok. I know.” He pats Tooru on the head. “It’ll even out eventually. You’re getting a lot better at telepathy, too. You’ll be back on top of your powers in no time.”

“I hope so,” Tooru groans. He really does. He doesn’t want to push it, sure, especially given that the consequences of pushing himself include seizures and several day long collapses, but he  _ likes _ practicing and seeing what he’s capable of. Hajime’s right, though. A little patience will probably go a long way. However, some things require no patience.“And Iwa-chan!” he grins. “I hope you’ll be on top of  _ me _ in no time.”

“If we’re watching a movie it’ll be more comfortable for you to sit on my lap,” Hajime points out. 

“I meant fucking,” Tooru says dryly.

Hajime stares him in the eyes with a straight face. “I can go for a whole movie.”

Tooru blinks at him. “Oh,” he breathes, then grins. “ _ Yes _ .” He looks at Hajime with eager eyes, but they can’t go very long making bedroom eyes at each other before they burst into giggles, Hajime bending down to laugh into Tooru’s hair.

Hajime is right. Tooru will be fine.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week: I attempted to write comedy in the most stressful month of year. My opinion of it is a heavily oscillating function. Keiji's opinion of it is a strictly monotone decreasing function. Someone save him.
> 
> Man, I'd eat my nuclear physics book if I didn't have shared custody of it.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Koutarou sighs. “I don’t know, babe,” he says. “I’m trying to convince them to give you a break but they’re kinda assholes. Scared assholes.”
> 
> “Well, I was a scared asshole first,” Keiji says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooooooooo I'm through 2/4 exams, I may... possibly... not die.

“Hey, Stabby-kun!” someone shouts the second Keiji walks in.

Keiji stares at Koutarou with a helpless look. “I hate them,” he mouths. Koutarou claps him on the back hard enough to almost send him sprawling. He waves enthusiastically at someone in the background.

“You came too!” someone else cries. “We missed you, man.”

“How are you already…” Keiji mutters, but he sighs and lets Koutarou bound over to his new friends. Of  _ course _ Koutarou is already fast friends with these people.

“So anyway,” Yukie says, strolling up to him. “We finished most of yesterday’s food already so...”

Keiji scowls at her, then pinches the bridge of his nose. “That was a week’s worth of food,” he mutters.

“Yeah, well, it’s gone now,” she replies. At his glare, she at least has the decency to add, “What? I’ve been eating nothing hedges lately.”

“Look,” he grits out. “We can’t just keep buying you inordinate amounts of food. We have our own people to feed.”

“Alright, alright, fine,” she grumbles. “Sakusa was always stingy with the food too.”

Unfortunately, that gets Sakusa’s attention, despite the fact that he’d been blessedly out of eyesight up until now. His face certainly looks… well… interesting, now. His mask covers most of it to start with, but now there’s a piece of gauze taped over his missing eye. They’re both slightly different shades of white, too, so it’s more than a little bothersome. “Constant food runs only increased the risk that one of us would get followed down here,” he says.

Keiji, personally, agrees with him, but he’d rather get stabbed again than admit it. “Also money,” he mutters. “It doesn’t come from nowhere.”

“We could always start stealing again,” says a voice from a nearby pool of water.

Keiji shivers when he sees the black eyes that stare out at him from the water. Suzumeda is one of the few people Yukie managed to introduce properly, but Keiji wishes she hadn’t, because Suzumeda is over two meters tall, in possession of a  _ lot _ of teeth and, in a spectacular twist of irony, not in possession of a nose, which is generally what Keiji uses for his powers.

In short, she is terrifying, and she seems to know it.

“I don’t approve,” Keiji says, as surely as he can. “Though I’m sure that won’t stop you.”

Sakusa makes a small tch-ing noise, slowly pushing himself off the ground to resume his favorite position, which is looming just too close to Keiji for comfort. Between Yukie’s sharp tongue, Suzumeda’s needle-like teeth, and Sakusa, tall and looking roughly like a perpetually disappointed harbinger of death, Keiji feels like a caged animal.

Koutarou, meanwhile, is laughing uproariously with three people Keiji hasn’t entirely met, bragging to them about his progress in flying. Frankly, Keiji does not think it’s that great, but that might just be the envy speaking.

“Well,” Keiji says, and he is fairly sure his voice didn’t wobble. “I suppose we’ll have to come up with something for the food. Lev can only transport so much.”

Sakusa crosses his arms, but Keiji can’t tell if that’s an agreement or just more silent judgement. “Do you have an idea?”

Keiji sighs. “Well,” he mutters. “For starters, things might be easier with a refrigerator. We could store some food in that.” 

“A refrigerator,” Sakusa says, dryly.

“Do you have a suggestion?” Keiji snaps.

Sakusa’s eye narrows. “I’m not in charge,” he says. “I have no say.”

“Then go. Away,” Keiji breathes.

Sakusa’s eye narrows further and he does a good job of sinking back into the shadows, but he’s very clearly still looming, his good eye fixed on Keiji without pause. Keiji closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Right.”

“Anyway, a refrigerator won’t solve the transportation problem, but you’d be able to store a lot more food for a long time,” he says. “So possibly it’d be easier to make meals that will last. But to be quite frank, you’re going to have to budget your food, because I don’t intend to have Lev work as a pack mule every day.”

Of course, since the world apparently doesn’t want him to be able to make a point ever again, Lev chooses this moment to teleport in with a crate of oranges. “Ukai-san told me to bring this if I was coming over anyway,” he says brightly.

“And  _ why _ are you here?” Keiji grits out.

“Well, I get bored being in the Institute all day,” Lev whines. “And all these guys get that, and also Komi thinks my teleporting is super, super cool so I want to show him more of it!”

“I…” Keiji starts, but he’s distracted by Yukie creeping toward the crate. He catches her by the collar of her shirt. “Do not eat all of them.”

Suzumeda leans over him with a nasty look on her face. “Oi,” she says. “Don’t manhandle my girlfriend.”

Keiji swallows. “I am your boss,” he says. “I can manhandle whoever I like, especially when they’re stealing food from everyone else.”

She leans slightly closer and he leans back as subtly as he can. “Oh, yeah, pretty boy? I bet if I eat you I’d be the leader.”

“Rules say knife fight,” Sakusa interjects. 

All three of them look at him. “Really?” Yukie says. “ _ That’s _ your only issue.”

“Hardly,” Sakusa says, but he doesn’t elaborate.

Keiji slowly lets go of her shirt. “Two oranges, and then when everyone has had some, you can have more.”

“What are you, my babysitter?” she mutters.

“Yes,” Keiji says. “Clearly.”

She huffs at him but she takes two oranges anyway, shoving them both in her mouth in one go. Her skin takes on an orange sheen only a few moments later.

“ _ Anyway _ ,” Keiji says. “We need to find a source of electricity. There must be something.”

“We have some maps,” says the furry, round-eyed man beside them. “That could help, maybe.”

“Possibly,” Keiji says, crossing his arms and looking at the guy. “Where are they?”

The guy doesn’t move, just staring at Keiji with his huge eyes. Keiji blinks at him expectantly, but he says nothing. Yukie is trying not to laugh behind him. “Really?” he asks.

“Don’t blame him,” Yukie says. “He’s a lemur.”

“ _ What? _ ” Keiji asks, but Yukie just takes off walking, forcing Keiji to hurry after her, hoping she’s leading him to the maps.

She leads him through the cloth maze, stopping at a box. She pulls out a pack of papers and hands them to Keiji. “There you go,” she says.

He pages through the pages. They are an utter mess, scrawled, terrible kanji covering messy lines that almost seem to be a map, each piece of misshapen paper seemingly depicting a different part of the sewer.

“Really?” he asks, checking the margins. “They’re not even labeled. How am I supposed to know how they fit together?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. I didn’t make them.”

She leaves him standing there, glaring at the papers. “I hate all of you,” he mutters, mostly to the papers.

-X-

If there is anything that’s good about any of this, it’s that Koutarou is having fun.

Two hours into piecing together the maps, Keiji has to stand up and stretch his legs. He finds Koutarou in the main cavern, tossing a small ball into the air. The green boy’s tongue snaps out, stretching at least two meters and wrapping around the ball.

It jerks him forward, but he’s laughing, at least until his tongue snaps back and brings the ball with it, hitting him square in the nose.

He tries to pull it away, but it seems to have gotten tangled in his tongue.

“Man that’s so cool!” Koutarou cries, oblivious to his plight. The guy frowns and reaches up to trace where his tongue got stuck.

A second boy in thick, blackened glasses perches behind Koutarou. He must be Konoha, Keiji realizes. He’s already noticed the other boy’s struggle, but instead of helping he seems to be struggling with his laughter instead.

The boy with the long tongue glares at him, saying something muffled, and that alerts Koutarou. “Oh!” he says. “Are you stuck?”

The guy just stares at him with a flat look and gestures at the ball still balanced right over his bottom lip. 

“Hang on, I gotcha,” Koutarou says, reaching for his tongue.

Keiji groans and steps forward before Koutarou and his unpredictable grip strength tear out a guy’s tongue. “Let me,” he grumbles.

The guy says something that is entirely incomprehensible but still manages to sound rude.

“I can see it,” Keiji points out. “I can untangle it easily.”

The guy points at Koutarou and says something muffled. 

Keiji takes a deep breath. He’s sure his face looks like he’s about to murder someone, but given how annoyed he is, that’s the best he can do. “Koutarou’s grip strength is uncanny, he may tear your tongue apart by accident.”

Koutarou deflates beside him. “I’m not  _ that  _ bad!” he says.

Keiji fixes him with a look. “If you get distracted by untangling it, you’ll forget to be careful about your grip.”

Koutarou mulls that over. “Ok, true.”

The guy crosses his arms and looks away with a huff.

Keiji feels his eye twitch. “Listen,” he starts, looking at Koutarou for help.

“Komi,” Koutarou volunteers.

“Listen, Komi,” Keiji sighs. “I don’t particularly enjoy the idea of  putting my hand on your tongue either, but at least you won’t have to live the rest of your life with a ball stuck your mouth or half a tongue.”

Komi seemingly tries to blow a raspberry at him despite the sizeable handicap that keeps him from it. 

Keiji takes that as permission, and reaches forward to pull at his tongue. It is, of course, incredibly slimy. Keiji would think that would make it easier to untangle, but mostly it’s just harder to grab the tongue properly. 

Konoha is still giggling behind them, Komi is yelling far too overdramatically every time Keiji pulls, and Koutarou is drifting around them fretfully.

When the ball is finally free and the knots undone, Komi’s tongue snaps back into his mouth and he tries it out. Not two seconds later, he grins. “Hey,” he says. “I bet I could catch a melon.”

Koutarou’s eyes light up, but Keiji cuts them both off before that can get too far. “No,” he says.

Koutarou hovers over pouting for a moment, but then seems to realize what Keiji is thinking. “Oh,” he says. “Right, yeah, that’s a bad idea.”

“Aw, come on, you were into it before he said no!”

“Let him catch a melon!” Konoha cries, raising two fists into the air.

“A melon’s bigger, my tongue can only wrap around it a few times, so it won’t get tangled,” Komi says, very matter-of-fact.

“You’re going to give yourself a concussion,” Keiji informs him.

“Nuh uh!” Komi says.

“Pretty sure Komi’s head is harder than a melon, so he should be fine,” Konoha says. “Right?” He punches Koutarou on the shoulder. “Come on, tell him.”

“Uhhhh,” Koutarou says. “No, I’m with Keiji.”

Komi and Konoha groan in unison. 

“I thought you were fun, man,” Komi tells Keiji. “When are you going to stab someone again?”

“That was one of the lowest points of my life,” Keiji says. “So hopefully never.”

“Lame,” Konoha sighs. “Yo, Bokuto, you wanna see a giant fish skeleton?”

“ _ Yeah _ ,” Koutarou cries, and the three of them race off to some corner.

Keiji pinches the bridge of his nose. He looks away, and he realizes that the furry man is still standing in the exact same place. “Has he not moved at all in the past few hours?” he asks, mostly of the universe in general.

“He’s a lemur,” Sakusa says from a dark corner.

“I,” Keiji starts, whirling around and barely containing his anger. “Do not know. What that means.”

Sakusa shrugs, as if to say,  _ that’s  _ your _ problem _ .

-X-

As miserable as they day is, the evenings are almost enough to make up for it. After getting home, they roll out the mats for Koutarou and sit in the grass to watch him. Kenma finds the blueprints to the sewers somehow and the two of them map out how much cable they’ll need and how to reroute enough energy for a few refrigerators, a small radio system and possibly a motion sensor or two, without drawing attention from the city.

They decide it’s best to alternate sources, and they find three or four spots where they could add a few cables.

In the meantime, Koutarou, after several days of practice, manages to stay in the air for an extended amount of time.

He’s getting good, and Keiji is awed by the grace with which he flies (when he does it right). His massive wings look all the more powerful when extended in the air, and Keiji is as enamored with the powerful spread of them as he is of the quiet moments in the evenings, when Koutarou is half asleep and Keiji combs through the feathers, drying them whenever they get wet.

Slowly but surely, Keiji learns all of Fukurodani’s names. The lemur is Sarukui, though Keiji is still not sure where his penchant for offering to help and then standing stock still comes from. Koutarou’s favorite, the little girl with the antenna, is named Kimi, and may be the only one who actually talks to Sakusa willingly, though that may be because he is the only one who knows sign language.

Nothing has gotten less frustrating with them, but Sakusa seems less angry with him, so possibly Keiji is winning them over.

And besides, Keiji is finding it harder to be upset about his new job when Tetsurou comes home looking like a zombie every day. From his stories, it seems like he’s enjoying himself, or at least that he finds his job rewarding, but more often than not it’s Kenma who carries him to bed after each time he falls asleep in his dinner. 

Every time he stays over, Keiji is reminded of the derailed house hunt, but it’s difficult to focus on that when he’s spending his days with Konoha, who’s trying to convince him that it’s Keiji’s job to pull the shedded skin from his shoulders, and the evenings doing the math that will allow him to give Fukurodani a little bit more infrastructure to work with (Or rather, nudging Kenma into doing it, because Keiji is terrible at math.).

-X-

“Alright,” he says. “We’ll need to attach cables to powerboxes in these three areas.”

“Wow, did you  _ actually _ assemble that map?” Yukie asks, peering over his shoulder.

“Yes,” Keiji says. “No thanks to any of you.” 

Yukie actually looks slightly impressed.

“What are we gonna do with that much electricity?” Komi says.

“It’ll help us set up a perimeter check,” Keiji says. “That way we’ll know if there is anyone nearby when you do food runs or if there’s any movement in the sewers, and a refrigerator will help in minimizing food runs.”

“Uhuh,” Konoha says. “What do we do if someone’s already down here, though?”

“That will be the next step,” Keiji says. “For now I’ve just been focused on getting this to work.”

“What if we set up like… automatic flamethrowers,” Komi says.

“You live in cloth rooms,” Keiji reminds him. “Flamethrowers seem inadvisable.”

Komi huffs. “That’s what Sakusa said.”

“Well, then for once we agree on something,” Keiji mutters. It burns a little to admit it. “Anyway, we brought the cables you’ll need with us. Is anyone here able to work with electricity like this without electrocuting themselves?”

Konoha raises his hand. “I’ve worked with powerboxes before,” he says. “My dad’s an electrician.”

Keiji’s heart clenches a little at the present tense. “Ok, then,” he says. In the distance, he can see Sakusa pull his coat a little closer to himself.

“I bet he’d do it,” Konoha informs Yukie, who, for once, doesn’t make a remark, just nods. “But he’s busy.”

“Of course,” Yukie says.

“We don’t wanna bother him,” Washio adds.

Keiji starts rolling up the map, which is now covered in the tape he’d used to assemble it. “Don’t worry, Konoha-san,” he says. Koutarou is chewing on his lip, as though trying to figure how to be comforting to someone who doesn’t know they need comforting. “I’m sure we can manage alone.”

Yukie shoots him a relieved look, and for possibly the first time, Keiji sees an inkling of hope that he’ll actually befriend these people.

-X-

Of course, the next morning that inkling is snuffed out mercilessly by Suzumeda, who corners him the moment he arrives. “Oh, gods, what?” he asks.

“I need a favor,” she says.

He narrows his eyes at her suspiciously. “A favor?”

“Yeah,” she says, arms crossed. The spine along her head seems to be taller than usual.

Keiji glances hopelessly at Koutarou, but Koutarou and Lev are already looking at something in Onaga’s hands. “What kind of favor?” Keiji asks warily.

“Aw, come on, don’t be such a weenie,” she says, a dripping, scaly hand landing on his shoulder and dragging him into a back tunnel.

“Are you going to eat me?” he asks, not sure if he’s being sarcastic or not.

“Yeah,” she says. He’s not sure if she’s sarcastic or not.

“Great,” he replies.

“So I got us some radios,” she says, coming to a stop. “But dropped them down a drain and my hand is too big to get it out.”

“Uh,” he says. “I’m not exactly small.”

“Smaller than me,” she says, like she’s making a point. 

“Even Koutarou’s hands are smaller than mine,” Keiji says.

“Yeah, well, Koutarou’s job isn’t to look after us,” she says.

“So even you are aware that my job is to be a babysitter,” he mutters, and she bends down and pulls aside a drain cover.

He eyes it with a grimace. “What exactly is down there?” he asks.

“Don’t worry, there’s no shit or anything in our areas. Our ancestors cleared ‘em.”

He groans and pushes his hand in. Whatever is down there is slimy and scaly. “Uh,” he says. “Are those…?”

“They’re my children,” she says, entirely serious.

“Uh,” he says, because if Konoha thinks his family is still alive, he’s not so sure that Suzumeda can’t think that a pile of dead fish shoved into a waterless drain are her children, but somehow he doubts it. “They’re dead.”

“You killed them?” she says. “Well, I guess I will have to eat you, then.”

He stares at her. “Please don’t be serious,” he says.

She grins, exposing rows of needle sharp, several centimeter long teeth. “Anyway, did you find them?”

He winces and pushes his arm further into the hole. He can feel the edge of a plastic bag. “I feel something.”

“Well, tug it out then,” she says, shuffling away. This, of course, means she takes the light on her head with her, and with his arm shoved into a pile of fish, he can’t very well get to his phone to use his own flashlight.

He feels his eye twitch. It’s becoming a far too common occurance these days. Still, he lets his fingers close on the bag and tug it forward. With a series of disgusting schlopping noises, it comes loose, and as if on queue, he can see Suzumeda’s light bobbing back, though dimmer than usual.

“Wow, you kept pulling even when I left you in the dark?” she laughs.

“Yes, apparently I’m an idiot,” Keiji says.

“I’m flattered you trust me that much,” Suzumeda says. She’s got something large in her arms, and he hopes she’s not actually going to kill him.

When she steps closer, he can see she’s holding something like a small barrel, and as soon as he can make the observation, she dumps it on his head. It’s filled with fish and putrid salt water. He just stands, slowly letting the last of the fish slide down his back, then asks, with a remarkably steady voice, “Why.”

“I don’t know,” she says. “I’m glad you humored Konoha yesterday, but I couldn’t just accept you without anything else.”

“So you  _ dumped _ a barrel of  _ fish _ on my head?” he cries.

“Yyyep,” she says. “If you want me to explain Saru’s lemur thing, I have another barrel.”

“No,” he manages, voice trembling only a little bit. “No, I will figure out the lemur thing  _ myself _ and if you  _ ever _ dump a barrel of fish on my head  _ ever again _ I will kill you.”

“Right,” she says. “Sorry.”

He wasn’t actually expecting an apology, and it makes things, strangely enough, feel a great deal better. At least now he has one person on his side. And, now that he looks at the tightly shut bag in his hand, she really did bring him radios. He doesn’t want to know how she got them. “Just show me the way back,” he says tiredly.

-X-

“Has anyone seen Koutarou?” Keiji calls. After several hours trying to get the radios to work and his hair to dry, he kind of needs a hug, but Koutarou doesn’t seem to be anywhere nearby.

“He went with Konoha,” Komi informs him.

“You sent my boyfriend into the sewers with the boy who kills people with his eyes,” Keiji says, his voice flat.

“What, you don’t trust Konoha?” Komi asks.

Keiji fixes him with a look, one which Komi doesn’t seem to want to challenge. He shrugs. “He went by himself. He and Konoha are the only ones who see well enough in the dark anyway.”

Keiji takes a deep breath, rubbing his hands over his face. “How long have they been gone, exactly?”

“Couple hours,” Yukie volunteers, munching on what seems to be a lead pipe. “They probably got lost. I’d say you should have sent someone with a brain to help them out but… well.” She spreads out her arms and looks around the room theatrically. “We’re short.”

Keiji takes an even deeper breath. “So you’re telling me,” he says, very slowly, “that you sent my boyfriend out with a snake man that kills people with his eyes, to get electricity via a pair of jumper cables, and they should have been back already, and you’re just  _ sitting there _ .”

“Saru said he would look for them,” Komi says.

Keiji looks around. It’s not hard to find Sarukui, standing awkwardly by one of the tunnels. Keiji bites his upper lip in an effort to contain himself. “He,” he begins, even slower than before, “is not doing that.”

Komi follows his previous gaze. “Huh,” he says. “He must have put too much thought into it.”

“ _ What? _ ” Keiji grits out.

“He’s a lemur,” Komi says, again, like it’s self-explanatory.

“ _ I know he’s a lemur _ ,” Keiji growls, whipping out his phone. “Onaga!”

Onaga pokes his head out from under one of the cloth walls, looking slightly nervous.

“Come on,” Keiji says. “We’ve got to find Koutarou and Konoha.”

Onaga nods and hurries to catch up with Keiji as Keiji strides towards the hallway. Onaga scampers ahead of him, letting Keiji light their way with the flashlight in his phone. 

“Would you feel it if they were hurt?” he asks, after a while.

Onaga shakes his head. “If they were unconscious, maybe,” he says. “That feels different.”

“Nothing like that?”

Onaga shakes his head again.

“Hopefully they just got lost,” he murmurs. He can’t help but think of the worst case scenario, but he feels oddly calm, like he’s just too tired to be panicked.

They walk for a long, long time before Onaga finally comes to a stop beside a small door, likely to an abandoned store room. Right outside of it is the wrapped up cable he’d found for Konoha, and he can hear Koutarou’s voice inside. He sounds cheerful, which is a good sign.

Keiji raps on the door a few times. 

Koutarou’s voice goes quiet.

“Koutarou,” he calls, loud enough that it likely makes it through the door. “It’s me.”

“Keiji!” comes Koutarou’s voice, closer to the door but still slightly muffled. “Hey! We locked ourselves in.”

Keiji looks at the broken door handle and lets out a slow sigh. Well. Good thing he hadn’t gone into a panic just yet. He jiggles it and with some trial and error he manages to get it open. 

Koutarou grins at him. “Oh man,” he says. “I was hoping you’d come soon.” He cocks his head, leaning a bit closer to sniff at Keiji. “Do you smell of fish?”

“I reek of fish,” Keiji says. “I’d rather not talk about it. What were you doing in a storage closet?”

“Looking for something for Konoha’s eyes,” Koutarou says. “We slid down a tiny waterfall and he lost his glasses. But we got the cables hooked up.”

Keiji just rubs at his eyes. “Right,” he says. “So you could have easily died.”

“Nah,” Koutarou says, bouncing back into the other end of the room. “Hey, Akinori! Come on, Keiji’s here to free us!”

He returns a moment later with Konoha on his back. Konoha is sniffling, but it’s hard to tell if he’s crying because he seems to have an entire roll of duct tape taped over his eyes, a few layers wrapping around his head to keep it in place.

“He’s going to lose his eyelashes,” Keiji mutters.

“Nah,” Koutarou says again, cheerful. “He had the idea of putting a bit of cloth under the tape. He’s really smart, Keiji!”

Konoha plants his face between Koutarou’s shoulder blades, and Keiji is overcome by jealousy. He clenches his fists and tries to breathe. Konoha is  _ clearly _ crying over something and given Tendou’s account, he could probably use the comfort. But that doesn’t mean Keiji has to fork over  _ his _ comforter.

He stays silent, dragging himself along behind Koutarou while Koutarou tells Konoha all about the daily cycles of sunflowers.

Onaga watches him warily, possibly because Keiji is glaring a hole into Konoha’s back.

When they get back, Koutarou sits Konoha down in front of a wall, so he’s facing away from everyone. “I’m getting something for your hair, alright?”

“Alright,” Konoha sniffs.

Koutarou disappears into the cloth labyrinth and reappears with a bottle of some kind and Washio. Keiji blinks. Does Koutarou already know the layout of the cloth labyrinth? How? 

Of course, that’s maybe because Koutarou has been having fun with the rest of Fukurodani while Keiji has been poring over blueprints and being angry at them. Now he feels jealous of  _ Koutarou _ too.

Koutarou sits behind Konoha and tilts his head forward. “Alright, let’s get this off you.”

“I need my glasses first,” Konoha says.

“Oh!” Koutarou says. “Yeah! Oi! Komi!”

Komi turns around, looking away from his prey, a large beetle. “What?” he calls.

“Get me one of Akinori’s glasses!”

“Why do I gotta?” Komi huffs.

“Come on,” Koutarou says, with a disapproving tilt of the head. “You know he needs his glasses.”

Komi grumbles something, but shuffles away to get the glasses. Keiji gawks, holding his arms out as if to ask what just happened. “Really?!” he cries. “That’s it? That’s all it takes?”

“Aw, come on, Keiji,” Koutarou says, with just a hint of a pout. “They’re not so bad. You just gotta ask nicely.”

“I  _ tried  _ that!” Keiji growls.

“You still make that grumpy face, though,” Koutarou says.

“I’m grumpy because they’re being shits to me!”

Koutarou shrugs. “They’re being shits to you because you’re letting it get to you,” he says. He looks Keiji up and down. “You’re an only kid, you wouldn’t get it.” He drops the subject, going back to his work of rubbing the duct tape glue out of Konoha’s hair carefully.

“I…” Keiji scoffs,  “Unbelievable.” He throws up his hands and wanders away from the scene before he says something mean to someone about it, but he finds himself glancing back to where Koutarou is laughing quietly with Konoha over something while he lets his wings curl around him almost protectively.

He doubts anyone had to dump a barrel of fish on  _ Koutarou _ before they vaguely accepted  _ him. _

He huffs, storming away to find something else to do. 

-X-

“So,” Keiji says later that night, while he’s toweling down Koutarou’s wings from the shower. “What happened between you and Konoha in that store room?”

“Nothing important,” Koutarou says.

“He was crying and now you’re best friends,” Keiji mutters.

“Yeah, well, we talked about some serious stuff.”

“Like what?”

Koutarou gives Keiji a scolding look over his shoulder. “It’s a secret,” he says.

“Even from me?” Keiji tries not to feel hurt, but he’s not succeeding.

“It’s not important,” Koutarou says. “Just private.”

Keiji is fairly sure he’s pouting now. “Kenma would tell Tetsurou,” he mutters.

“That’s ‘cause Kenma’s mean,” Koutarou says. 

“Oh, so you’re taking their side over all your boyfriends, at least.” Keiji feels more than petty now, but he’s  _ frustrated _ .

“Oh, come on,” Koutarou sighs. “I love Kenma but you know he’s mean sometimes. In a Kenma way. That’s not so bad, but it’s still  _ mean _ . And there’s no  _ sides _ .”

Keiji grumpily takes out the blow dryer and starts on drying Koutarou’s wings properly. Koutarou waits for the loud noise to die down. “It’d be easier to make friends with them if you didn’t think of them as enemies,” he says.

“Obviously,” Keiji mutters. Koutarou gives him an unimpressed look. “They’re making an enemy of me!”

“I know you don’t like being forced into things,” Koutarou says. “And I keep telling you it’s ok to quit, but I think right now you’re helping because you want to help, so I don’t know why you’re so angry at them about it.”

“Because… because!” Keiji snaps. “Because they’re purposefully making it hard to help them!”

“They’re scared,” Koutarou says. He looks oddly mature right now. “You gotta be nicer to them.”

“They picked me because I’m scary!” Keiji protests.

Koutarou shrugs. “I don’t think that’s gonna work anymore. I think we shook up stuff too much for the rules to be as powerful as they were with Sakusa.”

Keiji is quiet, hands fisted in his pants. He knows Koutarou is right. The tiniest bit he’s won them over was by being kind to Konoha. But that doesn’t make it  _ easier _ .“How am I supposed to be nice to them when they insist on being terrible to me?”

Koutarou sighs. “I don’t know, babe,” he says. “I’m trying to convince them to give you a break but they’re kinda assholes. Scared assholes.”

“Well, I was a scared asshole  _ first, _ ” Keiji says.

Koutarou smiles softly and kisses him on the cheek. “I know.” He shuffles around so he can wrap his arms tightly around Keiji. 

Keiji takes a deep breath, breaking in Koutarou’s scent. He’s starting to feel better now that he’s finally gotten his hug. Besides, fish or no fish, he’s won over Suzumeda, which seemed the most impossible.

Kenma pokes his head in, followed by an exhausted looking Tetsurou. 

“Hey,” he says as Tetsurou throws himself down onto Kenma’s bed. “The flickery noodle is here. He says he’s got to talk to you.”

Keiji frowns. It takes a moment before he realizes who Kenma is talking about. “Why?”

Kenma shrugs, making one of the most sour faces Keiji has ever seen on him, which is saying a lot. “I tried my best to talk to him as little as possible,” he says. “But he told me to send Koutarou down with you.”

Now Keiji feels even more nervous, but he slips out of their bed and down the stairs, Koutarou on his heels. Tendou is hovering in the kitchen, inspecting a mug with a cat face on it. 

“What?” Keiji asks.

Tendou jumps, nearly slamming his head on the the cabinet above him. “Oh,” he says. “Hey.” His tone is far too cautious, almost gentle.

“ _ What _ ,” Keiji hisses eyes narrowed.

Tendou groans. “Wakatoshi put a word out, once I told him what was going on around the sewers,” he says. “We think we know who’s paying the guys going after Fukurodani.”

“Who?” Koutarou asks. It sounds a little too trilling in his mouth, like a confused owl.

“Zurui Seiji,” Tendou says, watching Keiji warily.

In an instant, Keiji’s whole body goes cold. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (No, that's not a name that's been mentioned before but uh. Well. Akaashi and Tendou don't have a lot of common acquaintances, do they?)
> 
> Next week: Akaashi says he is ok. He is not. There's a fire. The final sentence reveals the final arc of this fic. It's a hoot. (Which means you've got a week to guess how things will go wrong, woo!)


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She stares at him. “Oh,” she says. “I guess that’s true.” She sighs. “Fine, I’m sorry. I guess I could have gone without dumping fish on you.”
> 
> He chews at his lip. “I guess,” he says, despite the fact that he doesn’t mean it at all, “that I am sorry too.”
> 
> One of her long limbs comes out to loop around his shoulder. He shakes his head vehemently. “No,” he says, “I don’t think we need to hug this out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *looks at my update schedule* So close and yet so far away.
> 
> I've been dying since Wednesday.

Koutarou glances between Tendou and Keiji. “Who?” he asks again, sounding a lot more serious.

Keiji’s world seems strangely foggy.

“Can I tell him?” Tendou asks.

Keiji nods, sinking down onto the floor.

“He’s one of the guys who uh… _hired_ Keiji,” comes Tendou’s voice from the distance.

Koutarou’s voice takes a while to answer with a simple, “Oh.”

Keiji isn’t sure if they’ve fallen silent or if he’s just gone from the world. Koutarou’s warmth settles down around him and it brings him back. Tendou crouches down in front of him. “He’s not on Waka’s payroll so we can’t take him out the usual way,” he says. “But if you want, I’ll kill him for you.” His eyes are wide and earnest, and it’s a little disconcerting, but also comforting. “Dead serious.”

The offer sounds very tempting, but Keiji shakes his head. “No,” he says. “I… it might be odd to say that the offer means a lot to me, but no.”

“Alright,” Tendou says. “Want me to just fuck him up?”

Keiji shakes his head, taking a breath. First just one, then another. “No.” _I can handle this, I can handle this_ , he tells himself. “It’s fine. Do what you can, I’ll take care of Fukurodani.”

Tendou looks at him with more concern than Keiji wants from him.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Keiji says. “I’m _not_ Eita.”

Tendou’s face blurs and flickers, and then he nods, looking a lot less concerned. “Right,” he says. He slaps Keiji’s shoulder. “Did I mention that I’ve found a place to buy fleas? I’ve got some ideas how to give them to Kiyoomi. He’d _lose_ his _shit_ …”

“No, that’s terrible,” Keiji says, sitting up properly. “I’m not giving a germaphobe fleas.”

“Aw, come on!” Tendou cries. “I thought you were on my side on this!”

Keiji quirks half a smile.

There’s another knock on the door. Keiji groans. He doesn’t want to deal with anyone else, but Ukai is already out of the front hallway and almost at the door. Keiji drags himself to his feet. He can hear Ukai’s voice in the distance, saying, “Sugawara isn’t home right now, but…” and then, “Akaashi!”

Keiji flinches. “What?”

Ukai finds him in the kitchen, Sawamura behind him.

“Oh no,” Keiji says. “I don’t suppose you want to wait another… three hours before telling me whatever you’re about to tell me?”

“I’ll be in and out before you know it,” Sawamura assures him, eyes landing on Tendou.

Keiji rubs his face and gestures for him to continue.

“I’m told you know a fish person,” Sawamura says.

Keiji drags his hands down his face. “I might,” he says.

“Well, we have an appliance store person who says he saw a fish person and a giant porcupine stealing two of his refrigerators.”

Keiji sinks down onto a chair and moans long and hard into his hands.

“Of course, he was severely intoxicated and very insistent they were aliens. And he has no camera footage,” Sawamura continues, without mercy. “So he’s not pressing charges. But if you should possibly see a giant fish person and porcupine with two large, subpar refrigerators, please tell them not to do something like this again.”

“Uhuh,” Keiji manages.

Sawamura narrows his eyes at Tendou. “Funny,” he says, after a long pause. “You have the same hair color and build as the right hand man of a very wanted mob lord.”

“Crazy,” Tendou says, with a grin.

Sawamura raises an eyebrow. “No wonder Suga is so wary about me being a cop,” he mutters, shaking his head. “Anyway, I’m going to leave him a present. Where’s his room?”

Keiji points. “First door on your right,” he mutters. Koutarou is eying him carefully. Keiji doesn’t want to look at him, because he might decide to just bury himself in Koutarou’s wings and never think about anything else ever again. Instead, he’s going to have to give half of Fukurodani a scolding.

-X-

“I cannot believe you,” Keiji says, feeling a lot like a school teacher as he stands with his hands on his hips. “You broke into an appliance store? The whole point of the refrigerator was to help you _lie low_.”

“We staked out the place,” Yukie says, crossing her arms. “The owner’s an alcoholic and he does some money laundering, so no one is going to believe a giant anglerfish stole his refrigerators.”

Keiji groans. The fact that they’ve put some thought into this just makes it harder. “And if you’d been caught on the way back? You could have been killed.”

“We were careful,” Suzumeda whines.

Keiji rubs a hand over his face. “Do not do anything like this without checking with me again,” he says.

“We were trying to help,” Suzumeda says, and she seems to actually mean it.

“Ok,” he says. He has a feeling that the more obvious it is that he actually cares, the harder it will be to keep order. “This wasn’t helpful, this is just causing me more stress.”

“He’s right,” Sakusa says from his corner. “You shouldn’t have taken such a big risk.”

“Shut up,” Keiji says half-heartedly, more out of force of habit.

Sakusa glares at him, but it’s just as half-hearted.

Keiji rubs his hands over his face. “Well, whatever,” he says. “It’s done now. Might as well set them up. Washio, help me with this.”

Washio nods, bones clacking as he stands up and stands beside one of the stolen fridges. Keiji points out where he wants it to go and Washio dutifully drags it along while Keiji goes to get the cables.

He can hear Koutarou talking softly to Sarukui, Komi and Konoha. “Look, just… try not to make his life miserable, ok?” he’s murmuring. “He got some really bad news last night. You don’t have to keep testing him. He’s trying as hard as he can, I _promise_.”

It takes Keiji a moment to remember what he means. He’s oddly calm about Zurui, and he’s honestly not sure if it’s numbness or if he’s finally gotten to the point where he’s not scared of people like Zurui anymore.

“What kinda bad news?” Komi asks eagerly.

“It’s private,” Koutarou says.

“You always take his side,” Komi cries. “Come on!”

“That’s not true,” Konoha blurts. “Kou takes everyone’s side!”

“Turncoat!” Komi cries.

“I just wish he wasn’t so scary,” Sarukui mutters.

“He’s not scary!” Koutarou cries. “Well ok, no, he’s kinda scary. But he’s the best guy I know and he really, really, really wants to help, so you gotta help him out, ok?”

“I’m trying,” Sarukui mutters.

“Just stop offering to do things, Saru,” Konoha sighs. “You know you’re only pissing him off.”

“I know, that’s the problem!” Sarukui cries. Keiji feels a little better knowing that, whatever the _hell_ is going on with Sarukui, he’s not _actually_ trying to make Keiji’s life miserable.

He shifts, and Koutarou’s head jerks around to look at him. “Oh!” he shouts. “Are you done with your scolding?”

Keiji sighs. “It wasn’t much of a scolding,” he says. He can’t help but feel like even though things are looking up a little, he’s only getting more tired, and he doesn’t exactly know why. “Anyway, I’m only here for the cables.”

Komi looks him up and down, and he must look terrible, because he says, “I’ll get them,” and hops away without protest.

-X-

Two days later, for the first time in a year, Keiji wakes up crying. He doesn’t remember why, and the panic subsides quickly, so he gets up and has breakfast like normal, even though it’s way too early.

Koutarou finds him a little later, staring at his bowl, mind sluggishly trying to comprehend that he’s run out of food.

“Keiji,” Koutarou says, and Keiji is suddenly swathed in feathers. “Maybe you should take today off.”

Keiji shakes his head. “I’ve almost gotten through to all of them,” he says. “I can’t back down now.”

“I’ll talk to ‘em,” Koutarou says. “It’ll be fine for one day.”

Keiji shakes his head. “I don’t need the break. I’ll just stay with you. You’re learning sign language with Kimi today anyway, I’ll tag along.”

Koutarou frowns. “Keiji,” he says.

“I’m ok,” Keiji says. “I don’t know why I’m so tired. Things are finally working out a little. Kenma is setting up the motion sensors, you’re learning sign language, Sakusa has agreed with me three times now, everything is great.”

“Uhuh,” Koutarou says.

“I’ve got this,” he assures Koutarou, who frowns at him.

Of course, he wants to take it back not thirty minutes later, because Komi and Konoha are standing in front of him, looking far too helpful. They are blocking his way back into the main cavern, too, and he’d only left for a few minutes to adjust one of the motion sensors to fit Kenma’s notes a bit better.

“So,” Komi starts, brightly. “Y’know how we said flame throwers would be a good idea.”

“And I said absolutely not?” Keiji says.

“Yeah,” Konoha says. “Well, we figured we’d prove you wrong and then we’d have a great way to defend the place, right?”

Keiji is too tired for this.

“Anyway, you were right,” Komi laughs, awkwardly rubbing at his head.

“Are you telling me something is on fire right now,” Keiji says. It doesn’t even need to be a question.

“Yeah,” Konoha says. “Like… everything.”

Keiji closes his eyes and breathes. “Alright then,” he says, and starts back.

At the very least, Yukie and Suzumeda have done a fairly good job of isolating the fire by pulling aside the cloth that hadn’t caught fire just yet, but there’s still smoke everywhere and the fire had clearly spread quite a bit before they’d noticed, because almost half the room is on fire.

Koutarou and Washio are across the room dragging a barrels towards the girls. Sakusa has Kimi over his shoulder and is wrenching something else out of the fire with a scowl, but for the most part everyone seems to be further away from the fire, watching from afar.

“Where’s my phone?” Keiji says.

“I’ll get it!” Sarukui cries, and then freezes.

Keiji stares at him. “Why,” he grits out, “do you keep doing that.”

“He’s a lemur,” Komi whispers.

“ _I know he’s a lemur!”_ Keiji shouts. That shuts Konoha and Komi up quickly.

He sees his phone lying on a crate to the side and he strides over to pick it up and call Lev. “I need to you bring Noya-san down here now,” Keiji tells him.

“ _Alrighty!”_ Lev chirps and hangs up. A few moments later, he poofs into view with Noya at his side.

“Oh boy,” Noya says, taking in the situation as quickly as he can. “I guess I don’t have to ask why you wanted me.”

In response, Keiji just gestures wildly at the fire.

In the next several minutes, it’s replaces entirely with soggy, melting ice.

Keiji turns around to look at the rest of them. He’s shaking.

Luckily or unluckily, judging by everyone’s faces, the only thing that shows of his impending breakdown is rage, because everyone seems to be shrinking back. He swallows, unsure if he wants to scream at them or to try to say what he needs to say calmly or just start crying and never stop.

Koutarou’s fingers wrap around his wrist, forming a careful circle instead of gripping it, as though he wants to be extra careful. Keiji isn’t even sure when he crossed the room.

“Keiji,” he says, extraordinarily softly. “Can you come with me into one of the back tunnels? Just for a quick breather.”

Keiji blinks at him, then nods slowly. Koutarou wraps an arm around Keiji and leads him out of sight and earshot.

“Ok,” he says, cupping Keiji’s face in his hands. “Do whatever you need.”

The momentum it would have taken to yell is gone. He’s not sure he had it in the first place. “I can’t do this,” he whispers.

“Yeah,” Koutarou says, as though he’s been expecting it.

“I can’t protect them from Zurui, Koutarou. I couldn’t do it even if they’d work with me. How could I, when I couldn’t even protect _myself_ from him?” He’s not sure when he started crying, but he is, tears dripping down his face. Had this even been bothering him before now? All he’s felt is exhausted, a stark contrast to the days when even the thought of people like Zurui had him doubled over in fear.

Koutarou pulls him closer, slipping his arms under Keiji’s and lowering his wings over Keiji’s shoulders. He hugs him tightly. Keiji clings to him, breaths coming faster and faster as he sobs into Koutarou’s shoulder.

“I think,” Koutarou says, very slowly, “I think you’re kinda right.”

Keiji closes his eyes tightly. Gods, he’s a disappointment even to Koutarou.

“I think you’re gonna figure this out somehow,” Koutarou says, sliding a hand behind Keiji’s head. “But I don’t think you can do it like this. Like a leader. You gotta go home, calm down and try somehow else.”

“How?” Keiji moans, wiping snot on Koutarou’s shirt.

“I don’t know,” Koutarou says. He holds Keiji as Keiji lets himself go limp in the embrace. “You’re the smart one. But you’re not gonna be able to think under pressure like this. You’re trying to put yourself between that guy and Fukurodani even though you’re the most scared.”

“They’re going to be so mad at me,” Keiji whimpers.

“Don’t worry, I’ll talk ‘em down,” Koutarou says.

“Oh, and they’ll give me a break this time?” Keiji says. “You’ve been trying to talk them down for who knows how long and they… they’ve…” He doesn’t want to admit that they’ve been slowly but surely doing as Koutarou asks, because that means that the only failure here is Keiji.

“Yeah,” Koutarou says. “Everyone’s been worried about you. Even Tetsu, though he’s barely ever home.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” Keiji whispers.

“Like I said,” Koutarou says, shifting a little so he can compensate for the way Keiji is slumping down more and more. “You need a break.”

“Ok,” Keiji whispers. “Ok, you’re right.”

Koutarou stands him up properly and smiles. “I got this. I’ll talk to ‘em and be right back.” He sits Keiji down against the wall and pats his head. “Just catch your breath, ok.”

Keiji nods, and soon he’s alone in the tunnel. A few moments later, Sakusa shuffles in beside him. They stare at each other in silence.

“I’m going up to make sure the smoke didn’t draw any attention,” Sakusa mutters, looking away and shuffling further towards one of the exits.

“Oh, don’t give me that judgemental tone,” Keiji growls. “All you’ve done since I stabbed you is sulk.”

“I haven’t been sulking,” Sakusa says, slowly coming to a stop. He doesn’t bother to look at Keiji. “I’ve stepped down. You are… _were_ in charge. I don’t have any place to tell you what to do.”

“Oh, that’s bullshit, even by your dumb rules.” Keiji kicks away a pebble. “I didn’t even kill you, you’re just mad that I one upped you, even though I’m weak of heart and not a murderer.”

“I assumed that my loss was more important than your lack of resolve,” Sakusa says.

Keiji lets out a hollow laugh.

“It might be a joke to you,” Sakusa says, “but being undefeatable was the only way I managed to lead. You took that away. I’m not fit to lead them anymore.”

“Right,” Keiji says bitterly. “Sorry for retaliating when _you_ …”

“I don’t blame you,” Sakusa says, to Keiji’s surprise. “You thought I’d taken what mattered most to you, so you took what mattered most to me. It’s fair and I accepted it. But Fukurodani… they took nothing and still lost what they needed.”

“I’m not the solution to that,” Keiji says, feeling slightly winded. “Even you’ve got more of a chance at leading them right than I do. At least you know them.”

“I know,” Sakusa replies. “It’s my fault. I should have won.”

“Thank you,” Keiji grits out, before he realizes the implications. “Actually, no, what? You’re saying _stabbing_ me in front of the people I love would have been the _right_ thing to do?”

“I know how it sounds,” Sakusa murmurs. “But this is the way things go down here. Life isn’t easy for us.”

“Life was never _easy_ for me either.” Keiji sinks down the wall and crosses his arms. “You don’t see me going around… stabbing people and…” He glances at Sakusa’s eyepatch. “... and feeling justified about it. For long.”

Sakusa is quiet for a long time. “This is how we do things. I’m not always happy about it either, but it keeps us alive.”

Keiji doesn’t know what to say, since at the moment, he’s done nothing but fail Fukurodani, unlike Sakusa, who’s kept them more or less safe for years. Sakusa waits for him to respond, but when he doesn’t, he leaves without another word.

-X-

Keiji manages to crawl back to the Institute. No one yells at him, but there’s a whole range of emotions in their eyes as they watch Koutarou and Keiji leave. Koutarou is quiet and steady at Keiji’s back, but it doesn’t help enough.

He’s miserable by the time he makes it to the kitchen, where Sugawara is sitting on the floor by the couch, sniffling.

“You too, huh?” Keiji asks.

Koutarou shuffles up beside Sugawara, wrapping a wing around him. “You wanna talk about it?”

“I’m gonna die alone,” Sugawara mumbles, pressing the heel of his hand to his eyes and sniffling.

Koutarou frowns. “Come on,” he says. “Don’t think like that.”

Keiji settles down beside Sugawara on the side opposite to Koutarou. “Did something happen, Sugawara-san?”

“He’s got a _girlfriend_ ,” Sugawara moans. “Look.” He shows Keiji a photo of Sawamura and a girl, looking very happy together in front of a forest trail.

“Ah,” Keiji says. “The guy you said you didn’t need to talk to.”

“Keiji,” Koutarou murmurs, just on the edge of scolding.

“Well I did,” Suga sniffs. “And I was so glad that we were texting because then I don’t get confused by his feelings but I guess I wouldn’t have _anyway_ because he doesn’t _have any_.” He glances at Keiji. “Anyway, do you need to talk? You don’t feel right.”

“Don’t deflect,” Keiji sighs. He frowns. “Besides, I think I know who I need to talk to. You just focus on yourself.”

“Oh, great, now I’m obsolete, too,” Sugawara mutters. Koutarou wraps an wing around him carefully, and Sugawara leans into it with a sniffle. “This is surprisingly therapeutic, though.”

Keiji sighs and shakes his head, dialing the number he knows he’ll need on his phone.

-X-

Keiji wishes meeting with Semi could be less awkward for once, but it doesn’t seem to be anything that’s going to happen in the near future, given that they’ve just spent a good two minutes staring at each other over the table they’re sitting at.

“I need advice,” Keiji says.

“Uh, I’d love to help,” Semi says, elbowing onto the table. “But my most helpful suggestion is probably to ask… literally anyone else.”

“It’s about… things. That the two of us have been through.”

“Even more valid, then.”

“How do you face them?” Keiji blurts. “This is what you do, day after day, fighting them, putting them away. How?”

“Are you shitting me?” Semi says, crossing his arms onto the table. “I don’t face them. I make sure they’re put away. Far, far away from me.”

Keiji finds his hands clenched in fists without noticing that he’d done it. “But…”

“You’re talking about Fukurodani, right?” Semi asks. “See, you’re talking about protecting them. Putting yourself in between them and what’s-his-face, responsibility-wise.” He leans back with a bitter chuckle. “Like I’d ever be able to do that. I’d run so far they’d never find me, if I was in your shoes.”

“I can’t let him hurt them,” Keiji says. “I’ve let him do enough, I can’t… I can’t let him do this.”

Semi sighs. “Well,” he says. “You’re a lot braver than me.”

Keiji frowns.

“I’d say just wait until Wakatoshi takes him down, but we’re having a tough time finding conclusive dirt on him,” Semi says. “So we can’t gut him subtly, and if he feels the pressure, he might lash out.”

“At Fukurodani, likely,” Keiji murmurs.

Semi nods. There’s a small quiver in his fingers, barely noticeable.

“I have to think of something,” Keiji decides.

“Hey,” Semi says, scratching at the table absently as he glances up at Keiji occasionally. “You can’t shoulder this alone.”

Keiji looks up at him, and for a moment it doesn’t feel awkward between them at all. “I just… I need to do something.”

“Yeah,” Semi says, after a small pause. “Just don’t put all the responsibility on yourself to fix this. It’ll just make you feel small and alone on front of him. Again. You go back to that, you’re no further ahead than when… y’know.”

Keiji nods. He wishes he didn’t know. “Thank you,” he says. He smiles. “See? You were helpful.”

Semi blushes. “Stop that.”

-X-

“Well,” Kenma says, looking awkwardly on the spot. His jacket is pulled up around his shoulders defensively, though that might be the chill in the air. “Congratulations, Kuro. You’ve survived until your first vacation.”

Keiji feels odd taking a break like this while the Fukurodani situation is still up in the air, but today is about Tetsurou. He’s almost looking human again, especially now that he’s being celebrated and a long weekend lies ahead of him. Apparently he’d only been given two days off, but with his workload, that seems to be a bigger blessing than he was entirely prepared for.

They’d taken a drive out to the nearest national park to celebrate, and now they’re off the path far enough that Koutarou can finally shrug off his coat and Tetsurou can wear his glasses without contacts.

“Hey Tetsu,” Koutarou says. “I bet you fifty yen I can fly through these trees.”

“You can barely fly in the open air,” Tetsurou laughs, tugging his jacket close. “So I’ll take that bet.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve been practicing a _lot_ ,” Koutarou says. “‘Specially now that we’re home all day!”

“It’s true, he’s getting fairly good,” Keiji says. “At least at simple turns.”

Koutarou nods eager, finding the barest and tallest tree he can and starting to climb it.

Tetsurou chuckles. “Alright, alright.”

Koutarou perches on a larger branch, taking a deep breath, wings extending behind him, and with one graceful leap, he shoots from the branch.

Keiji’s not sure whether it’s the bet or something about a natural habitat, but he can see the moment where Koutarou’s wings and instincts click into place with a magnificent swoop, sliding between two trees and then swinging around to dodge another.

“Holy shit,” Tetsurou breathes, watching as Koutarou tucks his wings in towards his body to thread his way between two close branches. “When did he learn that?”

“I have no idea,” Keiji manages, watching with wide eyes as Koutarou rises above them, wings spread so far he nearly blocks out the sun. He lands easily on a branch and folds his wings again.

“Did you see that!” he cries. “I didn’t even think I could do it that well!”

“Amazing,” Kenma says, blinking away half a tear.

“I guess I’m just a creature of the woods,” Koutarou boasts, and then falls out of the tree in a flurry of feathers.

“Yeah, ok, he’s still Kou,” Tetsurou sighs.

“I’m ok,” Koutarou manages, then sits up with a huge grin. “Kenma! Race me!”

“No,” Kenma says, immediately.

“Pleeeeeease?” Koutarou says.

Kenma’s face looks so tired and frustrated that Keiji has to laugh, but Koutarou only has to tilt his head a little further before he sighs and says, “ _Fine_.”

Koutarou giggles and grabs his arm, nearly tossing him up into the air in his excitement. Kenma lifts himself off the ground slightly and waits for Koutarou to clumsily flap his way up to meet him. It takes a moment for Koutarou to steady himself, but he manages to hover. “Ready?” he asks.

“If I have to be,” Kenma mutters, but there’s a small spark of competition in his eyes.

“Go!” Koutarou cries, taking off without waiting for Kenma.

Kenma is slow to start, but Keiji can see that it doesn’t take him long to get into it, especially with Koutarou laughing the way he is.

“They didn’t clarify where they were racing too,” Tetsurou laughs. “Kenma must have been excited too.”

Keiji laughs. “You’re right.”

Tetsurou wraps his arms around Keiji’s shoulders. “Hey,” he says, smiling down at Keiji.

Keiji looks him up and down. “Your face is unfortunate,” he informs him. “Even when you’re trying to be soft you look like a sleezeball.”

“Wow, just like your personality,” Tetsurou replies, without skipping a beat. “I haven’t been around a lot. Kenma’s been filling me in, but it’s not the same. How’re you doing?”

Keiji sighs and lets himself lean into Tetsurou’s arm as they watch Koutarou and Kenma loop through the trees, faster and faster with each go. Kenma flies like drifting smoke, silent and smooth, while Koutarou’s flapping, though not much louder, carries a sort of inherent power.

“Well,” Keiji says. “Fukurodani.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, you’re thinking about how to protect them nonstop,” Tetsurou says. “But how are you?”

“I’m ok, I think,” Keiji says. He frowns. “I don’t feel panicked when I think about guys like Zurui anymore. At first I think that was a problem because I forgot you could feel lousy without panicking, but now it’s… encouraging.”

Tetsurou nods, sighing and watching their boyfriends fly. He smiles, slightly taken aback. “Is Kenma laughing?”

Keiji watches Kenma closely. “I think he is.”

“Oh my gods,” Tetsurou says with a wide smile. He watches for a while longer, then looks back down at Keiji. “Anyway, I think if you give yourself enough leeway it’s gonna do you good to fight Zurui. You’re the kind of person who likes to beat things. And you’re good at it too.”

Keiji’s heart clenches as he looks up at Tetsurou. “Thanks,” he whispers.

They’re so close they’re almost kissing already, but before Tetsurou can close the distance, Koutarou hits the ground beside them in a squawking, yelling roll. Kenma lands slightly more gracefully after him, hair swinging into his face as he giggles.

Koutarou wrestles himself into a sitting position, tangled in his own wings and beams up at him.

“Oh my gods,” Tetsurou laughs. “That’s adorable.”

“Shush,” Kenma says, but he has to sit down because he’s laughing too hard, and before long they’re all bent over, giggling too hard to breathe.

-X-

Tetsurou and Kenma drop Keiji and Koutarou off at the Institute as they continue their much needed day off. Keiji is ready to fall into bed and sleep, but Suga intercepts them as they’re getting back.

“Half of Fukurodani is here,” he says. “And they’re… well. Freaking out, but it’s manifesting in anger.”

Keiji sighs. “Of course.”

“You want me to…?” Koutarou asks.

“No,” Keiji says, pulling himself to his full height. He’s glad Sugawara is here to remind him just how tall that is. “I’ve got this.”

Sugawara wasn’t joking. Yukie, Suzumeda, Washio, Komi, Konoha and even Sarukui are all standing around the kitchen.

“Oh, were you out having fun?” Yukie snaps, the moment she sees him.

“I haven’t forgotten about you,” he says. “I’ve been working with Ushijima-san to get Zurui off your back.”

“Well, you’ve done a bang up job!” she shouts.

Suzumeda shifts, and Keiji can’t tell if she looks uncomfortable because she barely fits in the kitchen or because she doesn’t approve of Yukie’s yelling.

“More people have gone missing,” Komi blurts. “People who didn’t even leave the sewers!”

“Did the motion sensors go off?” Keiji asks.

“No,” Konoha says, arms crossed. “And we had ‘em hidden, too, so I don’t know how they could evade them.”

“And we haven’t seen Sakusa in over a week!” Yukie yells. “If you hadn’t pissed him off…!”

That’s the final straw before Keiji rounds on her. “Oh, I’m sorry, this is _my_ fault? All of you did your best to fuck with me but it’s _my_ fault that Sakusa didn’t think I was a good enough leader to take over for him? I didn’t even _want_ to take over for him!”

“Well, fucking good for you, because now he’s gone and Kimi and Onaga are missing and…”

Koutarou straightens from where he’s been melting into the corner, rubbing at his ears. “Kimi? The little girl?”

“Yeah!” Yukie shouts, and tries to continue yelling. She doesn’t get very far before Koutarou’s wings are slicing between them and pressing them apart, against opposite walls.

“There is a little girl missing,” Koutarou says, probably not trying to be loud but succeeding, “and you guys are yelling about who’s _fault_ it is?”

There’s half a beat of silence and then _everyone_ is yelling at once. Konoha and Komi seem to be yelling about how they hadn’t meant to set a fire, Yukie is yelling at Keiji, Suzumeda is yelling at Yukie either supportively or scolding, Keiji is yelling back at Yukie in defense, Sarukui is yelling at Konoha, and Washio seems to be surveying the situation, deciding who he’d more like to yell at.

“ ** _Enough!”_ ** Koutarou shouts, loud enough to make Keiji’s ears ache. Koutarou pulls his wings back in. His fists are clenched by his sides and it takes him a moment to realize everyone has shut up from the sheer force of Koutarou yelling.  “Look…” he starts, a little more unsure now that everyone’s staring at him. “I get it.”

There’s a long silence. Yukie and Suzumeda exchange glances, then look to Keiji for answers. Keiji himself isn’t sure if Koutarou is just done talking or thinking about what to say. Koutarou frowns and rubs at his neck.

“I mean,” he says finally, “you guys are all crammed down there together, I get that you get all cranky with each other and never agree on anything and you never do what anyone asks you to do and… I mean… I have six siblings, I get it.”

“Is this helping?” Suzumeda whispers, and she’s lucky Koutarou is thinking too hard over his words to notice because Keiji would throttle her, scary or not.

“Anyway,” Koutarou says, feathers rustling nervously around him. “I know that when shit gets all tense like that ‘cause there’s seven of you and you keep having to share clothes and rooms and food and everything and you’re just pissy and then something comes in and shakes things up like someone got caught making out with a guy under the bleachers or like… they get stabbed or something, then things just blow up.”

“Is he talking about us or his family?” Suzumeda whispers. Keiji glares at her, but Koutarou still hasn’t noticed.

“Anyway, _look,_ my sister deals heroin and my brother is probably in a cult and no one’s even heard from my other brother in like… two years so that’s a problem and… and I talk to all of them like… once a year and it always ends in fighting and it’s shitty and… and…” He lets out a long sniffle and sits down on the floor abruptly. His wings sprawl out around him helplessly and before Keiji can even say anything, he’s sobbing.

“Is he… He’s crying,” Yukie says.

“He started pretty strong,” Suzumeda offers.

There’s an awkward silence. At the very least, Koutarou has made it difficult for anyone to start yelling again.

“Well,” Keiji starts, though he doesn’t know where exactly to go from here.

“No,” Konoha says. He’s standing with his arms crossed, looking at the ground. When everyone turns to stare at him, now, he chews at his lip. “He makes a good point.”

“He _does_?” Yukie asks.

“I…” he says slowly, swallowing hard. “I really can’t lose another family.” He swallows again, and now Keiji can see the tears dripping under his glasses. “We gotta get our shit together.”

Yukie gawks at him. “You think I haven’t been trying?” she asks, with the smallest voice crack at the end. “I lived in _hedge_ for you guys!” She rubs at her eyes, then looks up with an almost comically offended face. “Now _I’m_ crying!”

Keiji is, at this point, fairly lost. Three people are already crying, Komi seems to be on the edge of tears just by looking at Konoha, Koutarou is on the floor, sobbing loudly, and there’s still three people missing.

Washio seems to be the only one with a plan, even if that plan is just to clamber forward, kneel down beside Koutarou, and plant his face on Koutarou’s shoulder. Koutarou moves automatically, bringing his arm and wing around him. Spurred on by the idea of a clearly much needed hug, Konoha launches forward to wrap his arms around Koutarou’s neck and start sobbing. This seems to be the last straw for Komi and Sarukui, because Komi starts crying too, and both of them crawl under Koutarou’s other wing to join the fray.

“Aw, hell,” Yukie sniffles, and clambers over Sarukui to nestle beside Konoha and wrap her arms around Koutarou’s waist so she can wail into his stomach.

At this point, Keiji is fairly certain he and Suzumeda are the only ones not crying. He looks at her suspiciously.

“I don’t have tear ducts,” she says desperately.

“Oh, gods,” he says, rubbing at his own eyes. “Could you just… look, why the hell did you try so hard to scare the shit out of me at the start?”

“I don’t know, because you’re pretty and every time you looked at me you flinched and I was pissed.”

“You’re two and a half meters tall and immune to my powers, it had nothing to do with your _appearance_ ,” Keiji snaps.

She stares at him. “Oh,” she says. “I guess that’s true.” She sighs. “Fine, I’m sorry. I guess I could have gone without dumping fish on you.”

He chews at his lip. “I guess,” he says, despite the fact that he doesn’t mean it at all, “that I am sorry too.”

One of her long limbs comes out to loop around his shoulder. He shakes his head vehemently. “No,” he says, “I don’t think we need to hug this out.”

“Just hug her!” Yukie cries.

Suzumeda pulls him in and clutches him close to her side, dragging him into the pile. He ends up crammed between a bit of wing and Sarukui’s fur and Suzumeda’s scaly, slightly spiky arm. He isn’t sure he likes this at all, but then Sakurui’s tail wraps over his shoulder gently.

“I can’t move when I’m scared,” he says. “It’s a lemur thing. I keep thinking I’m gonna manage to avoid it, but then the nerves hit me and I freeze. I’m really sorry.”

“Are you serious?” Keiji croaks. “That’s it?”

“Yeah,” Sarukui says, tearily.

And for some reason, at that, Keiji bursts into tears too. Maybe it’s relief. Maybe now that he’s not frustrated about this, it’s hitting him just _how_ scared he’s been since he found out he has to face Zurui again. Sarukui’s tail rubs against his face and Suzumeda pats his head supportively, and Keiji finds that somehow, he is very glad for this hug, awkward as it is.

It feels good not to be facing the worst of his past alone.

“Uh,” comes Kyoutani’s voice.

Keiji claws his way out of the hug, sniffling and adjusting his rumpled clothes. Suzumeda stands up with him, which is good, because she’s the only one who hasn’t just been sobbing on the floor like an idiot. “Yes?”

“Anyone seen Yahaba?” he asks, brows pulled together in either frustration or worry. “We were supposed to meet up.”

Keiji frowns. “He’s not in his room?”

Kyoutani shakes his head. “Nope. Not answering his phone either.”

“He’s probably stuck as a dog again somewhere. I’ll text Tooru, but I have…” he glances back at the pile of feathers, fur and scales behind him, ”… other things to deal with.”

“Yeah,” Kyoutani says. “Uh… good luck with that.”

-X-

After taking care of Kyoutani, with some effort, Keiji manages to untangle all of them and get them all sitting down in the living room. Koutarou is bouncing back to his bubbly self, though he still has an arm around Konoha, who is still struggling to stop sniffling.

“Anyway,” Keiji sighs. “We can’t know what happened to Sakusa, Onaga and Kimi, so I think we should still focus on defense. But if you have any ideas to look for them, I’m not against it.”

Tooru pokes his head in. “We have an issue,” he says.

“What _kind_ of issue?” Keiji snaps.

“The kind where you should come see this,” Tooru mutters.

Keiji frowns, but he follows Tooru into the kitchen. Kyoutani has Yahaba’s dog form in his arms, looking worried. There’s another younger, bald boy standing beside Hajime, who is just getting off the phone. “Yachi isn’t at work, she says we can take him to her place.”

“What happened?” Keiji asks.

Tooru points at a patch of black on Yahaba’s fur. Keiji squints at it. It looks exactly like a handprint. “Fever and coughing,” Tooru says. “Sound familiar?”

“Sakusa,” Keiji whispers.

Tooru nods. “Yahaba’s not very coherent right now, but what I can gather is Sakusa was here with someone and he didn’t realize Yahaba was a person, so I don’t think he meant to hurt him, but…”

“Go ask Ukai-san if anyone new showed up here yesterday,” Keiji says.

Tooru nods and dashes off while Hajime takes over holding Yahaba, whispering something to the newcomer.

Keiji turns to relay the news to the others, who are peering into the kitchen from the living room, but his phone rings before he can do it. He pulls it out and frowns. It’s Tendou. He picks up. “What?” he asks.

“ _I don’t suppose,”_ Tendou drawls, _“you’re missing something 189 cm tall and highly infectious? Because we’ve found him.”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *kicks down your door* HAVE I MENTIONED I LOVE SICKFIC.
> 
> Next week: someone finally tries to befriend Sakusa. He breaks their nose. In his defense he's got a lot going on.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kiyoomi stares at him. “That’s your plan?”
> 
> “You got a better one?”
> 
> “I just woke up, you imbecile,” Kiyoomi hisses. “I haven’t had time for a plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew ok so I've gotta keep the Monday schedule at least until July 10th, since that's the anniversary of Savior, but this week has just been a dull one. Free from work but too tired to do things.

“Pssst,” comes a voice. “Pst!”

Kiyoomi blinks his eyes open, slowly at first, then quickly.

“Finally, you’re awake,” says the voice, gripping him under his arms and dragging him forward. Metal rattles around him. It’s too dark to see properly.

He twists away, falling against the cold metal of a cage. The unknown figure that had grabbed him reaches for him, and he presses his hand out, grabbing its wrist and willing his power to life.

“That won’t work, sorry,” the voice says. “I’m immune to you.”

Kiyoomi blinks for a half a moment, then decides there’s only one solution to this problem. He swings his other hand up into the figure’s face. As it falls back, he dashes towards one of the walls, feeling around for a door.

“Well,” the figure says, holding its nose and sounding nasally. “I guess I should have seen that coming.”

Kiyoomi isn’t finding any cracks.

“Door’s on the other side,” the figure says. “I’m not here to hurt you, alright?”

Kiyoomi whirls around. His eyes are slowly adjusting well enough to make out the figure’s face and some brown hair. It holds its hand out carefully. “Who are you?” Kiyoomi asks.

“My name is Komori Motoya,” the figure says, letting go of his nose to hold both hands up. “We were both taken by the same people. I’m trying to get us both out of here.”

“Why don’t my powers work on you?” Kiyoomi grits out.

“I don’t know,” Komori says. “They came in and tested it a few times while you were out, on me and a couple of other guys who weren’t so lucky. Maybe they were hoping to use my powers on you or maybe they just wanted to test a vaccine, I don’t know.”

“You’re a mutant?” Kiyoomi asks. That makes him feel a little better, though he’s not at all sure he trusts a mutant who can look human.

“Well,” Kiyoomi says. “Kinda. I wasn’t, but… Look, I’ve been here for a couple of weeks, but I don’t know what’s going on. All I know is I was brought in here, things got really weird and painful, and now I’ve got this chemical thing going, ok? And I figured out how to melt the bars on my cage, so I got you out of yours, and we gotta get out of here before anyone notices us, or they’re gonna lock us up again and do more tests.”

It’s foggy, but the past few days are coming back to him in bits and pieces. He’d been attacked on his way out of the sewers, though luckily he thinks he was far enough from the exit that surely they couldn’t have found their way to Fukurodani.

His powers hadn’t been working. Or rather, they had been, sending the telltale spirals of black into the bodies of his attackers, but it hadn’t killed them, only sent them staggering, too weak to fight, but not too sick for the others to risk attacking him.

Someone had managed to kick him in the chest, and it had sent him sprawling long enough for some to inject something into his neck.

The rest of his memories are nothing but a flurry of needles and strange lights.

“Come on,” Komori says. “This isn’t the time to be overthinking things. They come by here pretty regularly.”

Kiyoomi still doesn’t trust this guy in the least, but he has a point. At least he’s gotten Kiyoomi out of his cage.

Komori grabs his wrist, and he jerks away. “Don’t touch me,” he hisses.

“Ok, ok,” Komori says, putting his hands up again. “I won’t, but you gotta hurry up.”

“Fine,” Kiyoomi breathes. “Lead the way.” He doesn’t seem like someone who would be good in combat. Worst comes to worst, Kiyoomi can probably snap his neck and escape if this is a trick.

Komori breathes out a sigh of relief. “Thanks,” he says. “I’m hoping if we run into anyone, you can take ‘em out. You sure know how to pack a punch.” He puts his hand on the door and it starts to bubble, dripping down in an acidic, burning pile. The door swings open.

Well. That could pose a threat.

“Ok,” Komori says, poking his head out. “I don’t know which way is out, but I know which way they take people for tests, so… uh… not that way?”

Kiyoomi stares at him. “That’s your plan?”

“You got a better one?”

“I just woke up, you _imbecile_ ,” Kiyoomi hisses. “I haven’t had _time_ for a plan.”

“That’s fair,” Komori says. “But deeply unhelpful right now.”

He darts out of the room before Kiyoomi can snap at him again. Kiyoomi grits his teeth, but he can’t see a better option, so he runs after Komori. He’s wearing only a pair of blue pants and t-shirt, and he feels extremely naked without his mask or a coat.

“They do medical tests here?” he whispers, sinking down beside Komori as Komori leans around the corner, inspecting the hallway before them.

“Huh?” Komori asks. “Oh. Yeah.”

“Are they sterile?” Kiyoomi whispers.

Komori looks back at him. “Is that important right now?”

“I just…” Kiyoomi says, but he stops, furrowing his brow. “No.” It’s hypocritical, he knows, to be afraid of sickness when he’s given it to others so many times, but it’s hard not to see person after person die by plague and not be frightened by the idea of it.

“Are you germaphobic?” Komori asks, tilting his head.

“It’s not important,” Kiyoomi repeats.

“Huh,” Komori says. “Anyway, there’s two guards down that way.”

“Stay here,” Kiyoomi tells him. “I’ll take them out.” He creeps around the corner.

The guards are standing by what looks like an elevator in full military getup. Kiyoomi dives for the shorter one first, sending his elbow into the guard’s nose before the other can pull his gun on him. Kiyoomi dodges the first shot, yanks the unconscious man’s gun from his side, and shoots the other guard.

It’s sloppy, and only unbalances the guard, but it gives him enough time to drive the gun into his face, knocking him out as well. Kiyoomi turns back to wave for Komori, but Komori is gone.

He freezes. He could, of course, just go ahead and go on without him, but if Komori has gone into hiding, it’s likely he’ll attack Kiyoomi later, and with his powers, he poses more of a threat to Kiyoomi than any human guards. However, if Kiyoomi doubles back to find him and kill him, is he more likely to wander into Komori’s clutches or is Komori already ahead of him?

“Hey,” comes Komori’s voice, sounding slightly winded, from behind Kiyoomi.

Kiyoomi whirls around, shifting back into a defensive stance.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Komori says, holding up his hand. Looped over one of his thumbs is a surgical mask. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you, just got this for you from one of the rooms back there.” He waves the mask invitingly.

Kiyoomi steps closer warily, getting just close enough to snatch the mask away. He watches Komori suspiciously as he puts it on, but he has to admit it does make him feel better.

“That looks suits you. And you look way less scary like that,” Komori says.

Kiyoomi glares at him. He knows what Komori means. Kiyoomi bleeds black, though it only shows where his blood is more visible. The veins inside his wrists, the inside of his mouth and his lips are all a terrifying, tar-like black. It generally works to his advantage, but he doesn’t like the suggestion that he looks better when he hides it. That’s not why he wears the mask.

“Not that I mind how you look without!” Komori says, throwing his hands up again to calm him.

Kiyoomi huffs and starts towards the elevator. “There’s not really any other way out of this hallway but this,” he says. “But we don’t know where we’re going, so it could end up being a death trap.”

“You’re a cautious bastard, aren’t you?” Komori asks.

“They will _kill us_ ,” Kiyoomi says.

“Point taken,” Komori says. “Anyway, it was just an observation.” He looks at Kiyoomi. “I don’t think we can do anything but risk it.”

Kiyoomi sighs and pushes the call button, grabbing one of the guns from the floor while they wait. The elevator doors slide open a minute or so later. Kiyoomi shuffles in warily, followed closely by Komori. They both look at the buttons. All the floors seem to be in the negatives except for the ground floor.

“That seems like our best bet,” Komori says, leaning on Kiyoomi’s arm to point at the ground floor button.

Kiyoomi glares at him, and he pulls away quickly. “What if the ground floor is a headquarters? Or heavily guarded?”

“Well, at least a ground floor is going to have exits,” Komori says. “We can try to stop the elevator before we get there, and I’ll melt a hole in the door so we can look around.”

Kiyoomi watches him with a narrowed eye. “Fine,” he hisses.

Komori shuffles beside him and presses the button for the ground floor. Between the first basement and the ground floor, they press the stop button. “Help me up?” Komori says, pointing at the ceiling.

Kiyoomi watches him carefully for signs of deception, but he kneels and lets Komori climb onto his shoulders. It takes him a while to melt a hole in the roof in such a way that it doesn’t drip down onto them, but once he gets a large slab free, he lets it drop and clambers up.

He leans back down, extending his hand for Kiyoomi to climb up. Kiyoomi takes it hesitantly, pressing his bare feet against the walls of the elevator to push himself up. Komori helps as much as he can, but while he’s tall he’s also skinny. Now that Kiyoomi thinks about it, he looks slightly malnourished. If he’s been here for weeks, that would explain it. It certainly lends credence to his story.

However, a starving test subject would be easy to talk into betraying another test subject for food.

Komori shuffles towards the outer doors, pressing his hand against it. “They’re pretty thick,” he says. “It might take a while.”

“You can’t speed it up?”

“No,” Komori says. “My powers… they’re like some kind of synthesizer. I think they were using them to make the ingredients for serums for tests. But I’ve got to turn the metal into some kind of acid or something before it can burn through. It’s not easy.”

Kiyoomi sighs. “Fine.”

When he finally has a hole just big enough to poke a finger through, Komori nudges Kiyoomi. “Can you see through? You’re taller.”

Kiyoomi leans in, looking around as best he can. He can only see two guards. “I think it’s alright,” he says. “I can handle them.”

Komori nods, lowering himself back into the elevator. Kiyoomi follows him, letting Komori restart the elevator while he cocks the gun and points.

The moment the elevator doors open, he shoots one guard in the head, and by the time the other guard can turn, Kiyoomi has already snapped his neck.

“Shit,” Komori says. “You’re scary as fuck.”

“Come on,” Kiyoomi says, hurrying down the hallway. When he rounds the corner, he stops short.

Komori skids to a stop beside him. “What?” he asks. “Reinforcements?”

Kiyoomi shakes his head, suddenly unable to speak.

Komori leans around the corner. “What the fuck,” he asks.

They’re in a beach house. A luxurious, clean beachhouse.

It shouldn’t be so shocking, really, but the reality of it hits Kiyoomi harder than he thought it would. Some rich human is running an operation to exterminate Fukurodani, who spends half its time trying to scrounge food from dumpsters, from their _beach house._

“Assholes,” Kiyoomi grits out. “Those fucking _assholes_.”

Komori seems to understand his outrage, because he joins Kiyoomi in staring at the elegant fountain that stands before them, with its finely crafted koi and the glimmering marbles in the basin.

“Hold on,” he whispers, disappearing into the hallway and reappearing with a gun. He aims it wrong, and Kiyoomi has to quickly adjust his posture before he shoots, but he manages to blow out the eye of one of the koi statues with a satisfying bang. “Alright, we gotta go.”

It takes Kiyoomi a moment to catch up to the thought.

“Hey,” Komori says, hand hovering over Kiyoomi’s arm before he remembers Kiyoomi’s aversion to it the first two times. “Uh… you. Whatever your name is. I know it’s shitty, but we gotta _go_.”

They hurry outside, where there’s five jeeps parked by the house. Kiyoomi leaps over the door  of one of them and sides under the dashboard, ripping it away to expose the wires below.

“You know how to hotwire a car?” Komori asks.

“Yes,” Kiyoomi says, ripping at the wires.

“Badass.”

It takes a few tries. Kiyoomi’s hands are slightly unsteady from everything that’s gone on lately, but he gets it started eventually.

“I can’t drive,” he says.

Komori stares at him. “You know how to hotwire a car but not how to drive?”

“Yes,” Kiyoomi says. “I’ve never spent much time on the surface. I… had a friend who learned.”

“You have friends?” Komori asks. “I mean, no. I didn’t mean that to come out so personal, you just seem… uh… a little suspicious of people.”

“Past tense,” Kiyoomi says, because Komori is right. He _had_ been too suspicious of Satori, and his efforts to hide his scars, and ultimately, he has no doubt that that’s exactly why Satori had left.

“Ah,” Komori says, sliding into the driver’s seat. “Well. Ok then.” He waits for Kiyoomi to sit beside him in the passenger seat, and then drives towards the road, making a point to drive over every flower bed he sees.

-X-

“Take a right here,” Kiyoomi murmurs. He’s cold, and the tarp they’d found in the jeep is only helping so much, draped over Kiyoomi’s shoulders. He’s not sure how Komori is managing.

They pull up in front of the Institute a few minutes later. “You live here?” Komori asks.

Kiyoomi shakes his head. “You wouldn’t fit in where I live,” he says. “You’ll be better off here, given your powers.” _And the fact that you look human._

“Oh,” Komori says. “Ok. So you’re leaving?”

“I’ll come in with you, if you want,” Kiyoomi sighs. He feels odd about just leaving Komori on his own after Komori helped him escape.

“Yeah,” Komori says. “That’d be nice.”

Kiyoomi opens his door gets out of the Jeep, waiting for Komori to join him. They walked up the steps and ring the doorbell. A man with dyed blonde hair opens the door. “Uhhh,” he says. “Looks like you have a story to tell.”

“Uh,” Komori says. “Yes.”

They end up in the kitchen, while Kiyoomi, for some reason, waits for Komori in the living room.

There’s a grayish collie of some kind staring at him, looking vaguely suspicious for a dog. “What?” Kiyoomi asks. It feels a little like the dog is asking him why he’s sitting here waiting for Komori to tell him it’s ok to leave. “I’m not staying.”

The dog just stares at him, and he sighs, reaching down to stroke its fur.

The fur turns black under his touch and the dog yelps. Both of them leap away, the dog darting away and Kiyoomi nearly knocking over a lamp as he stands too fast, heart thudding in his ears. He’s never infected anything accidentally before. Not once.

Not to mention he didn’t think his powers even worked on animals.

What did they do to him down there?

He stumbles towards the kitchen. “Komori,” he says. “I’m leaving.”

Komori looks up, darting out of his chair. “Wait, you… you didn’t even tell me your name!” he says.

Kiyoomi hesitates. He’s not sure why it matters, but he relents anyway. “Sakusa. Sakusa Kiyoomi.”

“Will you be back?” Komori asks.

“No,” Kiyoomi says. “Good luck.” He hurries out, before anything else can go wrong.

-X-

Fukurodani seems to be more or less asleep when he drops by. He breathes a sigh of relief. He needs to get his clothes and leave so he doesn’t endanger anyone until he gets this sorted out.

He creeps to his bed, ruffling through his clothes.

A pair of eyes stares back at him from the darkness, and a hand is already reaching for him.

He doesn’t have time to sign or pull away before Kimi’s small hand closes around his own. He jerks away quickly, hoping that the less the contact the more chance she has. She startles at the motion and the sudden blackness creeping up her hand, and vanishes into the cloth.

Kiyoomi wants to follow her, but he can’t risk hurting her more, much less anyone else. He has to get away from here as soon as possible. He grabs his coat and his own masks and gets dressed quickly, then takes off running.

No one else sees him.

It’s cold, even with his coat. He’ll have to find a place to hide, or the same people who jumped him the first time might find him again.

“Shit,” he whispers, because at this moment, the only person he can think of who might help is Komori, and he doesn’t trust Komori at all.

Satori. He has to reach Satori somehow.

-X-

He doesn’t trust Komori one bit, especially now that he knows about this sudden change in his powers. But this is the only way he can get back into the Institute.

“You’re back!” Komori says happily, once Ukai has retrieved him.

“Shhh,” Kiyoomi hisses. “No one can know I’m here.”

He wants to ask if Komori knew about this. If Komori was tasked with letting him loose on Fukurodani. But right now, he has to get out of here as soon as possible.

“Alright, alright,” Komori whispers, as Kiyoomi creeps down the hallway, peering into rooms as he goes.

He finally finds a room that has several small down feathers wafting out from under the door. He pulls the door open, peeking in. No one is there. He slips inside, followed by Komori. He starts searching through the things that seem to be most likely to be Akaashi’s. He frowns, then slides his hands between the bed and the wall, where he finds what he was looking for.

A small slip of money, a train pass, and a small address book.

“What’s that?” Komori asks.

“None of your business,” Kiyoomi snaps.

“Ok, ok,” Komori says, taking a step back. He’s far too patient with Kiyoomi, especially now that Kiyoomi can see the bruising on his nose from where Kiyoomi hit him. No one is this friendly with someone who likely broke their nose without a motive.

Kiyoomi looks up Satori’s number as well as he can, and then, very carefully, does his best to put everything back right where he found it.

“That’s all I needed,” Kiyoomi says. “Thanks.”

“Uh,” Komori says. “Sure. Look, are you…”

Kiyoomi leaves him alone in the room, not bothering to listen to what he has to say.

-X-

Kiyoomi manages to call Satori on a payphone. Satori agrees to meet, but Kiyoomi isn’t at all sure he’ll actually show. Still, it’s not like he can do much but stay at the alley they’d discussed and hope for the best.

Amazingly, though it’s several hours late, Satori does show up, hands in his pockets and looking less than happy about it. “I like your eye hole,” he says. “Very gnarly.”

“I need help,” Kiyoomi says.

“Not even a hello?” Satori sings. “You’re so rude, Sakkun…”

“I need a place to stay.”

Satori pretends to mull it over. “You know, I think I’ll have to ask Wakatoshi,” he says, theatrically brandishing his phone. He doesn’t dial, but he raises it to his ear anyway. “Hm? What’s that?” He looks back at Kiyoomi, making a show of covering up the phone while he speaks. “He says the room for pretentious, hypocritical assholes is under construction.”

“The men who were attacking Fukurodani,” Kiyoomi breathes. “They did something. I can’t control my powers.” He can’t tell if this is getting to Satori at all. “Satori, I can’t go back to Fukurodani like this.”

“Don’t, then,” Satori says brightly, but there’s something venomous in his eyes.

“Satori,” Kiyoomi says. “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

“Wow, I wonder what that’s like!” Satori says with a grin that wouldn’t look out of place on a pit viper.

Kiyoomi swallows, and does the only thing he can. He bows, fists clenched, looking down at the ground.

“What are you doing?” Satori asks, the sing-song quality of his voice fading.

“Keep me chained up in a basement, for all I care. But if I get captured again, they could use that against Fukurodani and I can’t…”

“Stop it,” Satori breathes.

“Please, Satori, I don’t know who else to ask, but…”

“Fine!” Satori cries. “Fine, whatever, you can stay in one of the guest rooms, just stop… stop doing that.”

“Thank you,” Kiyoomi says.

Satori grits his teeth, glaring down at Kiyoomi as he straightens up. “I hope you know how much I fucking hate you,” he hisses.

Kiyoomi wants to point out that if Satori hated him so much, he wouldn’t have been so panicked by the thought of him begging, but he can’t push his luck just now.

Whatever the situation, Kiyoomi at least knows they aren’t friends anymore. Perhaps they never truly were.

 


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I… I know that!” Tsutomu declares. “I just… I wanted to know if you would mind.”
> 
> “I would,” Satori says, opening his eyes wide. To be honest, he doesn’t care in the least. Setting Tsutomu’s loud and cheerful nature on Sakusa’s cautious and withdrawn one is probably the sweetest revenges Satori could take. “And if you befriend Sakusa, I will have the lady from the Ring stand at the foot of your bed every night for a fortnight.”
> 
> “Satori, stop,” Eita sighs. “He won’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's summer break and somehow I am even more tired.

 

“You’re certain you’re comfortable with him staying here?” Wakatoshi asks, peering down at Satori.

“Yeah, whatever,” Satori says, tracing the contour of the scars along his fingers. Sometime he wishes he could use illusions on himself. He’d still feel the stiffness and aches of his scars, but hell, at least he could pretend they weren’t there for a little while every now and again.

“Is he a guest or prisoner?” Wakatoshi asks, doing a frightfully good job of seeing through Satori’s hesitation.

“Guest, I guess,” Satori says, crossing his arms. “A guest I don’t like.”

Wakatoshi nods. He’s so accepting when it comes to Satori, like he’s either given up on understanding him or has just decided that everything Satori does is what it is. “Ah.”

Satori sighs. “It wasn’t just him that messed up Fukurodani for me, I guess,” he mutters. “And it’s not like he actually  _ kicked _ me out of Fukurodani.”

Wakatoshi just looks at him, utterly unhelpful. 

“Nevermind.” Satori shakes his head. “I’ve told Akaashi he’s here, we’ll  keep him around until we’ve got things sorted with Zurui.” He rubs his hands over his face. “Now I gotta go ask him if he knows anything about some little kid.”

“Would you like me or Reon to ask him?”  Wakatoshi asks.

“No,” Satori mutters, though he’s not happy about it. “I got it.” He walks away, waving his hands in the air and muttering a dark, “Smarmy bastard, let me live on the streets and now he wants a place to stay, blabla noble causes bla,” to himself.

He waltzes into Sakusa’s room without knocking. He promised a place to stay, not to make enjoyable for Sakusa. “Good morning!” he sings.

“What is it?” Sakusa sighs.

“Akaashi wants to know if you know anything about Kimi-chan,” Satori says.

“What about her? Is she alright?” Sakusa asks.

Satori watches him carefully. It’s still sort of unnerving to see him care, after Satori has placed so much of the blame for his own leaving Fukurodani on Sakusa and his stupid suspicions. Because  _ obviously _ Satori’s reason for hiding a face scarred almost beyond recognition was a lack of  _ loyalty _ . Prick. “Did something happen with her?” As pissy as he feels, he can’t find the energy to ask it like an asshole.

“I touched her while I was getting my clothes,” Sakusa murmurs. “How is she?”

“Missing. Her and Onaga,” Satori says.

Sakusa’s eye flickers with something that Satori doesn’t want to see, so he looks away. “She has a small hideout behind the convenience store. The one with the red window. She might have gone there. Hopefully Onaga went after her. He tends to bring her back when she runs off.”

“Alright, then,” Satori says. He hates being helpful here, but he can’t fuck with a little girl just to satisfy his grudge. “I’ll pass it on.” He swings out of the room, shutting the door behind him, and immediately smacks his head against the wall and groans, long and hard. “Fucking… Fukurodani… Sakusa…” He kicks the wall for good measure, then storms off.

Doing the right thing is apparently a pain in the ass.

-X-

Eita finds Satori with terrifying speed on the small ledge outside Satori’s window where Satori is moping, having relayed his information to Keiji. He sighs. “Really thought this place was a secret,” he mutters.

“Ha,” Eita says, holding up a triumphant finger. “See, I have been making up for being an utter ass for years by keeping a  _ close _ eye on you.”

“Bleh,” Satori informs him. 

Eita chuckles, sitting next to him. He’s been in good spirits lately, and it shows. He’s been drawing into himself less, his lips aren’t showing bite marks anymore, and every since he’s started letting Satori dye his hair, the colors he uses have grown more and more outlandish - he’s been through several shades of green and pink, but this month it’s a horrible shade of mauve that had made them both laugh for nearly an hour. 

Gods, Satori hopes this mood will stick.

“So,” Eita says, nudging Satori with his elbow. “What’s eating you up?”

“I’m trying to be nice here,” Satori mutters. “But Sakusa just… I’m still so  _ pissed _ at him.”

“Look, Wakatoshi asked  _ you  _ if you were ok with him staying here,” Eita sighs. “It wasn’t a trap. If you don’t want it, then…”

“I don’t want to kick him out,” Satori groans. “Ok maybe a little but… mostly I just wanna make him miserable.”

“Let’s put eggs in his shoes.”

Satori blinks at Eita. He’s curled up, facing Satori, the breeze gently tousling his hair. He seems, for once, just plain calm. Trusting. Open. Satori can’t stand the thought of disappointing him now. He lets out a nervous chuckle. “Is that your idea of a prank, Eita?”

Eita’s brow furrows into a half hearted scowl. “What? That’s a good prank!”

“Eggs?”

“They’re slimy and disgusting. I wouldn’t want to step in them!” 

“I guess,” Satori says, swinging his legs absentmindedly.

Eita watches him carefully. Satori suspects he’s trying extra hard not to miss anything ever again. He wishes it was easier to just give him that, but apparently unlike pretending to be an  _ absolute _ monster, being honest is not something Tendou Satori is really built for. He steels himself and lets Eita think without making some sort of morbid, stupid joke to distract from it all.

“It’s not really something you want to laugh off, huh?” Eita says, finally.

“Nah,” Satori says. He chews at his lip. “I just feel like…” He narrows his eyes. “You know. He’s a hypocritical ass and it’s not  _ fair _ that I did my time on the streets, starving and trying to stay warm, and then the second he’s in trouble he gets to have his own room on Waka’s island,  _ my island, _ that I finally found for myself and…”

The corner of Eita’s lip twitches. “I heard you found this island by trying to steal Wakatoshi’s wallet. Multiple times.”

“I…” Satori says, then scowls. “That’s irrelevant.”

Eita is trying not to laugh, but though his face is still serious, his shoulders are shaking. “S-sure,” he chokes out.

Satori finds himself on the verge of laughter too, just watching him struggle. “Look I…” Eita has to cover his face with one hand. “Eita. Have you seen Wakatoshi? Do you know the kind of bravery it took to steal his wallet? The first time he caught me he lifted me straight up off the ground.”

Eita gives a muffled whimper, and Satori grins. Making Eita laugh when he’s trying not to is one of Satori’s favorite things, possibly the only kind of suffering he likes to see on Eita. “Just imagine it, Eita,” he says, holding one fist up to demonstrate how Wakatoshi had held him. “Me just hanging there like a noodle and Waka just like…”

The wheezing whine Eita gives at that is golden.

“I swear, Eita, he looked like he’d never heard of pickpocketing before, it was incredible. And me just… just like ‘oh hey. Is this… is this your wallet.’ And he’s…”

Eita is in tears with laughter by now, and Satori can’t stop grinning, no matter how shitty he’d felt earlier.

“He’s just like… ‘you clearly took it out of my pocket, you know it’s mine,’ and I’m just trying to understand what the fuck this guy is thinking. Like… he’s not even mad he’s just like… trying to explain it to me. I swear to the gods, he was trying to explain to me that I was lying, and in the meantime he’s just holding me up like I don’t weigh shit.”

Eita wipes snot from his nose with his wrist, laughter coming out in breathy pants. 

“Anyway it took a lot of guts to rob him again,” Satori says. “I was like… this guy is gonna snap me in half but I gotta figure him out.” He sighs, feeling the misery of the whole situation set in again. “Second he found out I was robbing him for food he bought me the biggest dinner I’d ever seen. Pretty sure I puked half of it back up after I was so overwhelmed.”

Eita’s laughter trails off, and he watches Satori softly, wiping away tears. 

“And then I woulda done anything for Wakatoshi and I sure tried to give him everything and I just… I just feel like I earned this shit and then  _ Sakusa _ barges in and thinks I’m gonna share with him just because he’s… he’s fucking scared out of his mind and…” He scowls at the ground. “I wanna tell him to fuck off so  _ bad _ .”

“I get it,” Eita says, sniffling a little with the remnants of laughter. “You know I get it.”

“He’s right,” Satori says. “Where the fuck else is he gonna go? I don’t want to put Fukurodani in danger. Hell, I don’t even want to put Sakusa in danger.” He chews over it for a moment. “Technically I could just make him  _ think _ he’s in danger, but it’s all just a hallucination. Best of both worlds!”

Eita shrugs. He’s surprisingly unbothered by Satori’s sadism, now that he knows Satori’s not a threat. “Would that make you happy?”

“A little,” Satori admits. Eita doesn’t look any less calm for it, which is relieving, but it only makes it all the more clear to Satori that this isn’t what he wants. “But not really.” He blows out a long breath. “Fuckin’ Sakusa.”

Eita smiles at him softly. “I’m sorry. I wish I knew what to say.” He looks away suddenly, like he’s just thought something scary or embarrassing. 

“What?” Satori asks, mildly amused. So long as it’s not scary discomfort, it really is entertaining how easy Eita is to rattle.

“I don’t know,” Eita says, huffing. “I just… whenever I feel like I’m this close,” he holds up his fingers so they’re nearly touching, “to properly falling in love with you I get scared and clam up.”

Satori’s breath leaves him in a rush. “Oh,” he says, then grins. “Semisemi, that was almost romantic!”

“Shut up,” Eita mutters, blushing hard.

“It doesn’t hurt, ya know,” Satori chuckles. “Falling in love.” He winks at Eita. “I’d know, I’ve done it before.”

“Twice,” Eita says, almost too soft to hear, and Satori nearly falls off the ledge.

“Uh…” he says, suddenly unsure how to react. 

Eita raises an eyebrow at him. “Did you think I didn’t  _ know _ ?” he asks.

“Well,” Satori says, very slowly. “No offense Eita, but you can be a little dense sometimes.”

“Not when it comes to pessimism,” Eita says. 

“Oh,” Satori says, heart twisting. “It’s not like… I mean you’re not… like… second best or… or a backup plan or…”

“Drop the mental filter for a second?” Eita says. “Please? I believe you, I just… I gotta hear it for sure. You know I do.”

Satori nods. He focuses on shoving his thoughts to the forefront of his mind. 

Eita closes his eyes. “If you had to choose between me and Wakatoshi,” he asks. “Really, really had to… which of us would you choose?”

“Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh,” Satori says, and he’s about 90 percent sure his brain must sound like a heart monitor flatlining because he is coming up with  _ nothing _ .

Eita’s lip twitches up a little. “Ok,” he says. “That’s all I wanted to hear.”

“ _ What _ ?” Satori asks.

“I don’t know, I just wanted to know if you’d think Wakatoshi first,” Eita says, then smiles for real, lopsided and cheeky. “And I wanted to fuck with you for not telling me.”

“You…” Satori splutters. “You are… what the  _ fuck _ .”

“What?” Eita grins. “Can you blame me?”

“You’re the love of my life,” Satori says. “Honest, you are… just… just great.”

Eita snorts. “Asshole.” He smacks Satori’s knee gently. “Come on, dinner is soon.”

Satori groans and crawls after him as he ducks in the window. He’s been sitting outside long enough that his joints ache when he tries to move, but he ignores it, only cringing a little when he lowers himself inside. 

Tsutomu finds them in the hallway, looking nervous. Satori hopes he doesn’t have even more bad news. “Uh,” he says. “Tendou-san. I was just wondering… if… well, it’s just that Sakusa…” He pauses, as though to make sure that Satori notices he’s not adding -san. Satori tries not to laugh. “Well Sakusa seems to be in a very difficult situation and I thought I might eat dinner with him. Try to give him some company, in case it cheers him up, but I don’t want to upset you with it.”

Satori isn’t sure what is cuter, the fact that Tsutomu is asking for permission or the fact that he actually thinks Sakusa would enjoy company. Nonetheless, Satori wouldn’t be Satori if he didn’t use this to be a shithead. “Tsutomu,” he says, gripping the boy’s shoulders and shaking him a little, “you’re going to be in charge someday, you need more spine than that!”

Eita rolls his eyes, which is unfair, because at least Satori’s being a supportive shithead.

“I… I know that!” Tsutomu declares. “I just… I wanted to know if you would mind.”

“I would,” Satori says, opening his eyes wide. To be honest, he doesn’t care in the least. Setting Tsutomu’s loud and cheerful nature on Sakusa’s cautious and withdrawn one is probably the sweetest revenges Satori could take. “And if you befriend Sakusa, I will have the lady from the Ring stand at the foot of your bed every night for a fortnight.”

“Satori, stop,” Eita sighs. “He won’t.”

Tsutomu can’t help but look scared, but Satori can also tell he knows not to take him too seriously.

“I will,” Satori insists.

“You will  _ not _ ,” Eita says, elbowing him gently. 

“I’m going to have dinner with him,” Tsutomu says, albeit nervously.

“That’s very kind of you, Tsutomu,” Eita says.

“Every night,” Satori whispers, refusing to blink. 

Tsutomu keeps his eyes trained on Satori even as he walks away. Satori  _ may _ transfer a few seconds of not blinking into his mirage for the last few seconds before Tsutomu rounds the corner, because his eyes  _ do _ burn. 

Eita is still glaring at him disapprovingly. 

“Whaaaat?” he protests. “I used up all my niceness on helping Sakusa out. I can’t help it!”

Eita rolls his eyes, but he tugs Satori down and gives him a kiss on the cheek. And then, while Satori is standing rooted to the spot, he  _ walks away _ . “Eita,” Satori wheezes. Eita doesn’t so much as pause. “Eita come onnn!”

-X-

After dinner, Satori ends up reading manga while Eita tucks himself under his arm. “Can I touch?” he asks. 

Eita is silent for a while. “Firmly. I’m gonna crawl out of my skin if it feels like ghost hands or whatever,” he says.

Satori’s heart does a somersault, and he rests his hand on Eita’s head, stroking firmly and simply until Eita falls asleep. He falls asleep himself soon after, nose tucked into Eita’s hair.

He wakes to find much of Eita’s hair in his mouth, but he tries not to move until he feels Eita stir too. He feels a hell of a lot warmer and happier than he did last night.

Eita wakes with a shudder, as he usually does, but when he sees Satori’s unmasked face, he just snuggles closer and sighs. “Good morning,” he mutters.

“Morning,” Satori says cheerfully.

“You sound better,” Eita mumbles, rolling onto his back.

“Yeah,” Satori says. “I guess.” He makes a thoughtful face. “What if I put a spider in Sakusa’s room, and it’s tiny, but it’s always crawling juuuust out of sight?”

Eita snorts, swinging his legs off the bed and lurching up into what seems like a sitting position. “Ugh,” he says. “I feel like death when I sleep through the night, is that normal?”

Satori laughs. “I don’t think normal is what you should be shooting for, Eita.”

Eita just grunts, rubbing at his eyes. “Can we just stay in bed all day?” he asks.

“Nah,” Satori sighs. “Wakatoshi wanted us to look over a case today.”

“And you said you weren’t going to choose him over me,” Eita says.

“Are you just going to keep teasing me about that forever?” Satori sighs. 

“Give me a day or so,” Eita says. “It’s fun seeing you blush.”

Satori pulls up the mirage, sticking his tongue out at Eita. 

“What a sore loser you are,” Eita laughs, standing slowly. “I’m going to get dressed.” He rubs at his eyes grumpily. “Why are all my things in my own room when I’m always in yours?”

“Ooooh, you wanna move in together, Semisemiiii?”

“Shut up,” Eita mutters, and now he’s the one blushing as he storms outside. 

Satori grins as he watches him go. He gets dressed himself, pulling on a hoodie and wandering out into the hallway with a yawn. He makes his way to Wakatoshi’s study, humming happily, but he frowns when he finds Tsutomu sitting next to the door, head on his knees.

“Hey,” he says, frowning. “What’s with you?”

Tsutomu looks up, looking foggy. “Oh,” he says, with a rasp that barely sounds like his usual brash voice. “Tendou-san. I was… Ushijima-san asked me to look over something for him, but I was dizzy so I thought I would wait here until it passed.”

“You’re really pale,” Satori says, a sick feeling gathering in his stomach. He feels his forehead. The kid is burning up. “Shit, Tsutomu, you’ve got a crazy fever.”

“Oh,” Tsutomu mutters, coughing slightly. “I hadn’t even noticed. Do you think Ushjima-san would mind if I went back to bed?”

Satori frowns shoving the sleeve of Tsutomu’s sweater up slightly. The veins on the inside of his wrist are pitch black. “Did he touch you?”

“Mm?” Tsutomu mumbles. 

“Sakusa. Did he touch you?” Satori asks, shaking him slightly.

“No,” Tsutomu says, then coughs again.

“Ok,” Satori breathes. “Come on. Let’s get you back to bed.”

“He won’t mind?”

“No, Waka won’t mind, come on,” Satori assures, helping Tsutomu to his feet. They stumble down the hall to Tsutomu’s room, and Satori helps Tsutomu into the bed. “There. I’ll be back soon alright?”

He dashes back to Wakatoshi’s study, not even bothering to knock before he barges in. “Um,” he says. Eita and Wakatoshi look up at him from where they’d been murmuring over something. “Hey. We have a problem.”

-X-

In any other circumstance, seeing Wakatoshi with a certain fiery rage humming just under his skin would be a dream come true, but right now Satori is just terrified for Tsutomu and overrun by guilt. Eita is chewing at his thumb in worry too, and that’s just the icing on the utterly shitty cake.

He takes a deep breath, opening the door. Sakusa looks up at him, frowning. 

Satori can tell right away that he has no idea what’s going on. “Tsutomu,” he says. “He’s sick.”

Sakusa’s brow just furrows.  _ Fuck. He didn’t know. _ After a moment, he looks up at Satori. “Mine?” he asks.

Satori nods. 

“I didn’t touch him,” Sakusa says. 

“You must have brushed against him or something,” Satori mutters.

“I  _ didn’t _ ,” Sakusa insists.

Satori chews at his lip. “You had to have.”

Sakusa shakes his head. With his face mask on and one eye missing, his face doesn’t have much room left for expressions, but he looks scared. And the fact of the matter is, while Satori would adore seeing Sakusa scared in an entertaining way, seeing him scared by the fact that he’s been violated and changed into something dangerous, even to the few people he gives a damn about…

Not so fun.

Sakusa spreads his fingers like he’s just realizing what’s going on. “You have to finish it,” he says. “Akaashi wasn’t strong enough, but you…”

Tendou finds himself laughing, even though none of this is funny in the least. He’s angry again. “What, can’t handle your own powers?” he says, and he hates himself for it before it leaves his lips.

“These are not my powers,” Sakusa snarls. “ _ This  _ is something they  _ did _ to me.”

The mirage drops like the stone in Satori’s stomach. “You think I was  _ born _ looking like this?”

“This isn’t about your hurt feelings, Satori, it’s about Fukurodani!” Sakusa shouts. “They need someone to lead them and I can’t, not like this! Akaashi doesn’t have the stomach for it, but you’ve always…”

“Bullshit!” Satori screams. “If it was about having the stones for it Akaashi would have out… out _ leadered _ your cowardly ass any day. It was never about being the scariest or the strongest it was about having the most faith in the fucking rules, and your rules dumped me on the fucking  _ street _ , you selfish shithead!”

“Someone has to take care of them,” Sakusa breathes. “Do you want me to apologize? Do you want me to beg?”

“No!” Satori screams back. He rubs his eyes. “Keiji won’t let them die, you don’t have to worry about that.”

There’s a long silence. “How do you expect me to live like this?” Sakusa says, finally.

“I don’t know,” Satori says. “But if I had to fight tooth and nail to survive, you do too.” He whirls around and storms out before he can do something dumb like tell Sakusa that he forgives him. 

Wakatoshi watches him with crossed arms. 

Satori has forgotten to put up his mirage. He hasn’t forgotten it once for almost five years now, but Sakusa has managed to shake him up so hard that he’s forgotten. It’s only Wakatoshi and Eita, but he pulls it up anyway, for his own comfort more than theirs. “I don’t think he touched Tsutomu,” he sighs.

“Are you sure? He could have been blackmailed,” Eita mutters. “Zurui likely knows Wakatoshi is putting pressure on him and everyone like him. He could have asked for us in exchange for Fukurodani’s safety.”

Satori shakes his head. “No,” he says. “No, listen, he’s… he’s… honorable.” Wakatoshi nods approvingly at that. “He wouldn’t do that and he definitely wouldn’t start with the youngest. I think… His powers have changed. I think they’re airborne and he took his mask off while he was eating dinner with Tsutomu. It… was an accident, that’s all.”

“Is it deadly?” Wakatoshi asks.

“It wasn’t, for mutants,” Satori says. “But who knows, now.”

“I’ll find a doctor.”

“I’ll keep his fever down in the meantime,” Satori sighs. 

“Do you want me to help?” Eita asks, looking worried.

“No,” Satori says. “No, I let Sakusa in here, I want to take care of this. Help Waka.”

Eita hesitates, as though he wants to say something else, but he nods after a moment. Satori doesn’t stay long before he leaves them in the hallway to do their own thing. He can hear their low voices mixing and discussing, but he doesn’t bother trying to make them out.

-X-

Tsutomu’s fever is through the roof by the time Satori returns. He fills the tub beside Tsutomu’s room with water and some ice from the kitchen before he drags Tsutomu into the water. Tsutomu does as Satori asks good naturedly, even though he’s clearly hissing and suffering from the cold. 

Satori leans onto the side of the tub and conjures up something warm and tropical for Tsutomu instead, dipping a cloth into the cold water to pat Tsutomu’s head down. “Feeling any better?” he asks.

“Yes,” Tsutomu croaks. “Thank you, Tendou-san.”

“No problem,” Satori murmurs, pressing the cloth against his forehead, gently wetting his hair with slightly numb fingers. He wishes he could extend his vision of warmth to himself as well. 

Tsutomu wheezes tiredly. “You didn’t send Sadako after me,” he rasps.

“Nah,” Satori mutters. “Guess I forgot.”

Tsutomu’s lips quirk into a smile. “You’re not so scary, Tendou-san.”

“If you ever repeat that to anyone I’ll cut your tongue out,” Satori mutters. Tsutomu just smiles at him softly. “Hey uh.” He swallows. “This island vision isn’t the easiest to keep up, ya know. Mind if I… mind if I drop the…” He waves his hand over his face.

Tsutomu shakes his head. 

Satori lets the mirage flicker, then die. 

Tsutomu doesn’t look very shocked. “I thought you’d look sillier,” he murmurs after a while. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Satori blurts.

Tsutomu shrugs, closing his eyes and leaning on the edge of the tub, letting Satori pat his head down with the cold cloth. Satori leans his own nose on the side of the tub and sighs. “I’m so sorry about this, Tsutomu,” he murmurs. Tsutomu just leans his hot forehead onto Satori’s cheek. 

Well. Satori can’t say he minds.

****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The number of infected increases oh no.
> 
> Next week: I finally write an Ushijima chapter. It's super long and Tendou nearly dies. I know we talk about Tooru a lot but honestly someone give Waka a break.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We all knew you didn’t look like your mirage,” Shirabu calls. “But I lost a bet because of you. I said you were just normal looking and trying to be cool.”
> 
> “Ha,” Kawanishi says. “I said you looked a lot weirder than you were letting on.”
> 
> “That’s what I said,” Goshiki says, with his tired voice. “Silly. Right? I figured he looked silly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fucking love Tendou Satori oh my god.
> 
> Also, shout out to silvercistern for helping me figure out the medical fraud and fxvixen for putting up with me in general (and also betaing).

 

When Wakatoshi gets off the phone with Akaashi to update him on the latest information, he can hear Tendou clanking around the kitchen, coughing softly. He walks over to join him. “How is Tsutomu?” Wakatoshi says.

Tendou takes a moment to look up at him. “Uh,” he says. His mirage doesn’t show fatigue very well, but it’s flickering more than usual and Tendou’s expression is drawn. “He’s ok. Fever’s down a little, and I’ve been making him tea, so that’s helpin’ his throat…” He presses the back of his wrist to his forehead. “Wish it wasn’t Tsutomu. He’s strong but he’s just a kid, ya know?”

Wakatoshi does know, and he doesn’t like the unfamiliar twist it puts in his chest. He nods helplessly. 

“Look I… I meant it before,” Tendou says. “Don’t think Sakusa knows what’s going on, so I guess we couldnta known, but I wish I’d… maybe been more careful around him.” He coughs again, faintly.

Wakatoshi frowns. “Have you been sleeping lately?” he asks. “You look tired.”

“Nah,” Tendou murmurs. “I’ve been helpin’ Tsutomu an’…” He coughs again, and the mirage falters entirely. Underneath it, the unscarred parts of Tendou’s face are pale, dark circles under his eyes making him look even more gaunt and frightening than usual.

Wakatoshi’s heart skips a beat. “Tendou,” he whispers. “Did you go back to see…?” He can’t finish the sentence, because at that point, Tendou’s eyes roll back in his head and he keels over, and Wakatoshi is too busy reaching forward to catch him. Tendou is skinny, and it’s easy to catch him with one arm. He brings his free arm to feel Tendou’s cheek, brushing aside the thick, long red hair falling over his face.

His body is hot, even hotter than Tsutomu’s was.

Wakatoshi does not think he has known fear until this moment, and it hits him like a bucket of cold water over his head. “Sa…” he tries to say, but for some reason, his throat will not function. He swallows and tries again. “Satori?”

Tendou does not so much as stir, entirely limp in Wakatoshi’s arms, breath ragged, so hot it’s like a fire has been ignited under his skin.

Fear quickly turns to anger. That, perhaps, is more familiar, but never like this. Wakatoshi sees red, heart pounding in his head, and he pulls Tendou closer to his chest, tucking his face into his shoulder and draping his gangly legs over his arm.

First, he carries Tendou back to his room, where Eita is reading in his armchair. Eita looks up, going slightly panicked when he sees Tendou’s limp form, but Wakatoshi barely notices him. He makes sure to put Tendou in his bed carefully, comfortably. “Is he…? What happened to him?” Eita asks, but Wakatoshi is already halfway across the hall in long, powerful strides.

Eita jogs after him, quickly joined by Shirabu and Reon when they see Eita’s concern, but Wakatoshi ignores them until he gets to Sakusa’s room.

He barely has the presence of mind not to tug the door straight off of its hinges, but after that, everything becomes a blur, and he only just remembers to pick Sakusa up and slam him against the wall with his gloved hand. “Did you touch him?” he snarls. He can’t remember ever snarling before. He feels like he has become something else. It’s not unlike being possessed again, but this time the monster in him is still him.

Later, this will probably frighten him, but right now all he can think is that if Tendou dies, he will crush Sakusa’s head. Guilt be damned. Oikawa’s disappointment be damned. _If Tendou dies…_

Sakusa struggles for breath, and he can’t get out the words, but he attempts to shake his head as best he can with Wakatoshi’s grip all but crushing his jaw.

“Wakatoshi!” Eita cries, and his hands are on Wakatoshi’s free arm, gripping tight. “Wakatoshi, put him down!”

“He hurt Tendou,” Wakatoshi says, looking down at Eita through the bloody fog that clouds his mind. “He _hurt Tendou_.”

“He didn’t do it,” Eita says. “Wakatoshi, Satori said he wouldn’t do this. Satori knows him.”

“Satori _trusted him and he…_ ” Wakatoshi roars, but Eita doesn’t so much as flinch. Perhaps he knows that Wakatoshi is just as frightened as he is.

“He didn’t do this,” Eita says. “Put him down.”

Wakatoshi breathes hard through his nose for a few beats before realizing that this is _Eita._ Tendou’s lover, who likely has more of a say in who does or does not deserve to have their head crushed for possibly hurting Tendou. The pang of emotion that runs through him at that thought is incomprehensible. Rage? Jealousy? Shame?

He loosens his fingers slowly, and Sakusa collapses back to the floor with a wheeze.

Wakatoshi stumbles back, sitting onto the bed, suddenly feeling the opposite of what he was. The emotions that hit him earlier have drained out of him, and he only feels numb and vaguely dizzy.

Shirabu and Reon are still watching him with wide eyes and he feels shame coursing through his chest.

“You swear you didn’t touch either of them?” Eita says sharply.

Sakusa struggles to sit up, clutching his rapidly bruising jaw. “Satori was barely in here,” he rasps.

“Tsutomu was,” Shirabu says darkly.

Eita goes rigid, and for a moment Wakatoshi is struck by the fear that he, too, will collapse like Tendou did. Instead, he stares at Sakusa. “Did you take your mask off when Satori was here?” he asks.

Sakusa sits back, then shakes his head, wincing.

“Oh, gods,” Shirabu says, eyes wide.

“Satori was taking care of Tsutomu,” Eita says.

“It’s contagious,” Shirabu says.

Sakusa looks between them for a moment, and then something like fear glints in his eye. “No,” he says. “No. _Fukurodani._ ” He turns his good eye on Wakatoshi. “Please, you have to tell them. I know I put your people in danger, but…”

“Eita,” Wakatoshi croaks. “Would you call Keiji. Tell him about the situation. They may bring anyone infected here. I believe isolation is best, until we know how and how quickly this illness spreads.” Eita nods, already pulling out his phone and stepping from the room.

“Thank you,” Sakusa wheezes.

Wakatoshi stands, slowly. “Tendou had better live,” he says, though it is a vindictive, meaningless statement. He’s not sure he even means it as a threat.

“You shouldn’t wait that long,” Sakusa says, unperturbed by the idea that it might be a threat. “I’m a danger to you and your people.”

“Wakatoshi,” Reon murmurs. “You shouldn’t stay in this room too long, if it’s airborne…”

“I see why he chose you over us,” Sakusa says. “But you need to finish what you started. One of you…”

Wakatoshi stands to go. “I believe he stays because I bought him dinner once,” he says, unable to look at Sakusa. “And I believe you know very little.”

He slams the door a little too hard behind him and stands in the hallway for several beats, trying to breathe properly.

“Wakatoshi,” Hayato says, quietly. When Wakatoshi looks at him, he hands him a cloth. “We took Tendou to Goshiki’s room, so it’s easier to look after them both. For now we found these to use as masks.”

Wakatoshi nods. “Yes. Thank you.” He follows  Hayato to the room in question.

Goshiki, at least, is able to sit up, pressing a cold cloth to his head as he looks on in worry, but his coughs are shaking his whole body and he’s shivering too. “How are you?” Wakatoshi asks him.

“I’ll be better soon, Ushijima-san,” Goshiki assures him, though his bold voice is gone, replaced with something hoarse and cracking. He looks dizzy just from sitting up.

“Please, rest,” Wakatoshi tells him. “You don’t need to rush, we’ll take care of you.”

“Yes!” Goshiki tries to declare, but it comes out as many coughs instead.

Shirabu rolls his eyes and pushes Goshiki back onto the bed, pressing another cold cloth against his neck. 

On the other bed the others must have dragged in here, Kawanishi is sitting beside Tendou, packing ice around him. Tendou is more or less awake now, and Reon has his hand pressed to his head, likely trying to calm him. “Is he alright?” Wakatoshi asks. “Was he in distress?”

“He reacted badly to us seeing him like this,” Reon explains. “And it was setting off his coughing.”

Wakatoshi nods, settling down beside Tendou. He looks at him with a dopey look. “My chest _really_ hurts,” he wheezes, like he’s commenting on the weather.

“I can’t do anything about his pain,” Reon says. “I can only make sure he doesn’t care.”

“That will do for now, thank you,” Wakatoshi murmurs. He wishes he knew how to comfort Tendou a bit more organically. “Tendou, I don’t believe anyone here minds your appearance.”

“ _I_ do,” Tendou says, and he’s coughing again, gasping and wheezing like he’s choking.

“We all knew you didn’t look like your mirage,” Shirabu calls. “But I lost a bet because of you. I said you were just normal looking and trying to be cool.”

“Ha,” Kawanishi says. “I said you looked a lot weirder than you were letting on.”

“That’s what I said,” Goshiki says, with his tired voice. “Silly. Right? I figured he looked silly.”

“Do I look silly?” Tendou asks.

“No,” Kawanishi says. “You look terrifying.”

“The second Ohira takes his hand off my head I’m gonna cry about that,” Tendou informs him.

“Aw, come on, don’t do that,” Kawanishi says, putting an ice pack under Tendou’s head. “I thought you liked being scary.”

“Fun scary,” Tendou says. “Not _just crawled out of a woodchipper_ scary.”

“Well, you’ll just have to get better and put back up that mirage, man,” Yamagata says. “I swear it makes you look like a monster from a bad B movie. I always figured you were just doing it to fuck with people.”

“Like, a campy bad B movie?” Tendou asks, looking surprisingly vulnerable with the way he pouts at Yamagata with wide, teary eyes, wheezing occasionally.

“The campiest,” Yamagata assures him, patting his knee.

“Ok, cool.” He looks around at them slowly, suddenly starting to giggle. He may be carrying on a conversation with them fairly well, but Wakatoshi can tell by his eyes he’s barely coherent. “You guys all look like train robbers.”

“We’d make great train robbers,” Kawanishi says.

“While you’re robbing this train can you ask the conductor to stop doing donuts because we are spinning like _crazy_ ,” Tendou slurs, eyes sliding shut. 

“Yeah… that’s just you,” Kawanishi volunteers.

“How would someone do donuts with a train?” Yamagata asks, frowning.

“Wakatoshi,” Eita says from the door. He glances at Tendou, swallowing hard, then back at Wakatoshi. He’s covering the phone on his shoulder with one hand. “Keiji says Bokuto is bringing the jet here. He’s got Iwaizumi, Kuroo and another friend of theirs helping, with the sick. Iwaizumi will take care of setting up here, but Kuroo wants you to help him in getting some medical supplies from his hospital.”

Wakatoshi stumbles to his feet, nodding. “Tell him I’ll be right there.”

-X-

“Ok,” Kuroo says. “Hajime is setting up an isolated hallway. We’ve got him and three other humans helping, since they seem to be immune unless they have a latent mutant gene. Noya is on the ice, so we’ve just got to get medication.”

Wakatoshi nods.

“Alright. We need to keep this out of the public eye so Zurui can’t interfere, so we’re not admitting anyone to a hospital, and a lot of you guys don’t even have official identities.” He sighs, holding up his fingers to count with. “Yahaba was touched, and he got Sugawara and Shimizu and Watari, who apparently had latent powers, before we realized it was contagious.” He pauses. “Shit. If anyone else has latent powers then that throws off everything.” He shakes his head and continues. “Anyway. Kimi got Onaga, Goshiki got Tendou. That’s eight sick, three without official identities right?”

Wakatoshi nods. 

Kuroo shoves his hands in his back pockets, chewing at his lip. “And then we’ve got to assume that no matter how careful we are, we can’t account for accidents like latent powers or unpredictable spreading, so we should estimate for at least… what, another three sick?”

“I suppose,” Wakatoshi says.

“Ok,” Kuroo says. “And we somehow need to negotiate fever medication and painkillers for all of them.”

Wakatoshi nods.

Kuroo sighs. “Well, I’m definitely about to get fired. Come on.”

Wakatoshi frowns, but he follows Kuroo. Kozume stays outside, leaning against the car they’d taken here, watching Wakatoshi with narrowed eyes. 

“He’s not coming?” Wakatoshi asks.

“What? Oh, Kenma? No, he’s just here to intimidate you.” He steps to the side, leading Wakatoshi into an elevator.

“Ah.”

“He’s still got a grudge against you.”

“I see.”

“You know, since you killed him. And snapped my wrist. And plunged Tooru into months of hell.”

“Sorry.”

The elevator dings, and Kuroo hops out, gesturing for Wakatoshi to follow, until they get to what appears to be a cafeteria. There they find an older, silver-haired woman. She looks Wakatoshi up and down as they sit down across from her.

“Ok,” Kuroo says nervously.

“Tetsurou,” the woman says. “Did you bring Ushijima Wakatoshi to come see me?”

“Uh,” Kuroo says, hands folded. “Yes.”

“The mob boss.”

“Yes.” When she just stares at him, he gestures at Wakatoshi. “Dr. Nanami, Ushijima, Ushijima, Dr. Nanami.”

She sighs. “Alright, go on.”

“So… well, for starters, I need some time off.”

“Uhuh,” she says, warily.

“And also a large amount of fever and pain medication.”

“Ok, are you _in_ the mob or do you owe them something,” she sighs.

“Neither,” Kuroo says. “Uh. Ok, well, I’ll…” He looks around. They’re in the corner, and no one is looking at them. He bends down and takes out his contacts.

She raises an eyebrow. “This is getting weirder, but go on.”

“Alright, so… three years ago I was captured by one of the laboratories run by Ushijima’s family, tested on, and got powers.”

“Ok.”

“One of these labs got their hands on a mutant able to cause illness.” He’s not exactly correct. Zurui’s group splintered off of the Ushijima family years ago, but that doesn’t seem very important right now, so Wakatoshi lets him continue. “They modified his powers somehow so that his illness is now contagious among mutants and doesn’t seem to affect humans.”

“So you’ve got an epidemic on your hands,” Nanami says, leaning forward.

“Yes. And… a lot of these guys are flying under the radar. Mutants who’ve been persecuted and who couldn’t possibly pass as human. They won’t be comfortable coming to a hospital, and to be honest, I’m not sure I’m comfortable bringing them here.”

Nanami nods. “I understand.”

“So far we have six sick, with fevers around 39 to 40 degrees, wet coughs and chest pain. I doubt antibiotics will help, given the source, so I’m thinking of just isolating them and treating the symptoms and hoping the disease passes.”

Nanami looks at them both for a long while. “Alright,” she says. “You,” she points at Kuroo, “are my best student and you,” she points at Wakatoshi, “well, since you’ve been in charge, we get a lot less suspicious mob killings and maimings, so I’m going to trust you. But prescribing drugs to people who aren’t even registered anywhere isn’t easy.”

“If necessary I will buy the hospital,” Wakatoshi offers.

“Ok no,” Kuroo says, placing a calming hand on his shoulder. “That would not help.”

Nanami laughs. “He’s kind of cute, isn’t he?”

Wakatoshi blinks at her. 

“Alright, here’s what we need,” she says. “I can prescribe you some of the medication medication, but for the people who don’t exist officially, you’ll need fake IDs. In order to make it seem less suspicious, I’d suggest stealing empty prescription bottles and matching them with IDs as well, so we can spread the prescriptions over a few people. I can likely find you names and dates of birth through our system, but you’ll have to provide the IDs.”

“I think Kenma could manage that, with the right materials.” 

“Give me a list, and I will acquire them,” Wakatoshi says. “I’ll send out Kawanishi and Shirabu to fill the prescriptions.”

“We can use the simple prescriptions to hold us over while we’re doing that,” Kuroo says. “Tendou and Kimi need something for their fever as fast as possible, but I think Goshiki will be ok with some ice and something for his chest pain.”

Wakatoshi nods. He looks at Nanami. “Thank you,” he says.

She shakes her head, pointing at Kuroo. “If you weren’t so damn promising, I’d kick your ass for this.”

Kuroo grins sheepishly. “Sorry.”

-X-

By the time everything is settled, Wakatoshi just wants to lay down and close his eyes, preferably close enough to Tendou that he can be at his side with a moment’s notice.

However, before he can do that, he hears a far too familiar voice around the corner. He closes his eyes and breathes, steeling himself and finding the source of the voice.

“Ushiwaka-chan!” it cries, waving brightly.

“Who allowed you to come?” Wakatoshi asks. He is too tired for this. He isn’t sure how Tooru could possibly not be too tired for this.

“Bokuto brought me,” Tooru says jovially. “He’s lovely, isn’t he?”

Wakatoshi doesn’t answer, just takes Tooru’s arm as politely as he can and drags him over to the hallway one hallway over from the hall they’ve isolated for everyone sick. “Please stay,” he says, pressing Tooru into a corner.

Tooru scowls, but he does as Wakatoshi asks and stays still as Wakatoshi jogs away.

“Absolutely not,” Hajime blurts, once Wakatoshi has steered him in front of Tooru.

“I can’t believe you tattled on me, Ushiwaka-chan,” Tooru whines, as though he means to guilt Wakatoshi, or as though he didn’t know exactly what Wakatoshi was doing when he let himself be steered into this corner.

He does not feel guilty in the least.

“You are _not_ staying here,” Hajime shouts. “Knowing your luck, you’ll get manage to get sick and… and you’ll produce some kind of advanced strain and your arms will fall off!”

“What?” Tooru says, making a face.

“I agree,” Wakatoshi says. “Even if we set aside luck, I was under the impression you are still weak from… previous… happenings. You could be a great deal more susceptible to the disease.”

“No one asked you!” Tooru says, blowing a raspberry at him.

“This is my island,” Wakatoshi reminds him. “I have every right to kick you out.”

Tooru’s jaw drops, utterly scandalized. “See if I stop calling you Ushiwaka _now_.”

Wakatoshi gives him a flat look. “Were you planning to?”

“Iwa-chan!” Tooru whines, giving a transparently fake teary eyed look at his husband. “Do you hear him? I think he’s trying to sass me. I can’t _believe…_ ”

“For once I agree with him,” Hajime mutters. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Something changes in Tooru’s face, from fake hurt to actually vulnerable, and before Wakatoshi even registers the change, Hajime has stepped out of his scolding pose and stepped in front of Tooru, bent down so he can hear Tooru whisper and so he can shield him from Wakatoshi.

It seems only polite to turn away.

He hears a groan behind him, and he looks back over his shoulder. Tooru is looking up at Hajime expectantly, and Hajime is glaring at him, but his hand is cupped under Tooru’s jaw with a tenderness that makes Wakatoshi’s heart twinge. He wants to feel what they feel. 

Hajime sighs. “Fine,” he grumbles, and Tooru lights up, looking exceedingly proud of himself. “You can stay.” He reaches into his pocket and hands Tooru a face mask. “But you’re wearing this _the whole time_ ,” he growls. Tooru looks slightly less proud of himself. “ _And_ I want you at least five… _six_ meters from any quarantine areas.”

“Iwa-chaaaan,” Tooru starts, but Hajime presses his hand over his mouth.

“Non-negotiable,” Hajime says. “You are _not_ getting sick with this, you hear?”

Tooru glares at him over the hand, but he takes the mask with the most sullen tug Wakatoshi has ever seen. 

“Good boy,” Hajime says.

“Mean,” Tooru mumbles, pulling the mask over his pout.

Once they’ve left Tooru scowling in the corner, mask firmly over his face, Hajime pulls him aside. Or rather, he tugs on Wakatoshi’s elbow, and Wakatoshi politely follows the tug. “Look,” Hajime growls. “Thanks for backing me up there, but I hope you’re not gonna pull another…” He makes a face.

Wakatoshi waits patiently for him to continue. 

“I don’t like being possessive, alright? Tooru’s a grown man, he can deal with people who like him or who he likes or whatever. But the last time you ‘came onto’ him, you literally killed him, so… Don’t.”

Wakatoshi nods. “I’m aware at this point that I’m not in love with him,” he says.

“Yeah, that doesn’t mean you can’t make a pass at him,” Hajime says, eyes narrowed, though the tension in his shoulders does decrease.

Wakatoshi is quiet. “I don’t particularly understand romance,” he admits. “And that is proving to be… troublesome, but you have my word that I don’t plan to get involved with your relationship again.” That _your_ burns in the back of his throat.

Hajime eyes him. “Alright,” he mutters. “I’ll be in the quarantine room. If you see him trying to sneak closer to the action you have my permission to grab him by the scruff of the neck and put him right back where he should be.” He raises an accusing finger. “Any more than that and I’ll find a way to kick your ass.”

“Without breaking your foot?” Wakatoshi asks. He tries not to think of the fact that he says it mostly because it would have made Tendou laugh.

Hajime’s eyes narrow even further. “Don’t push it,” he growls, and storms away.

Wakatoshi waits a few moments, but Tooru doesn’t try to sneak back out, so he follows Hajime back towards the quarantine room, where he finds Eita in a corner, crying. Wakatoshi looks around, but it seems no one else who would be better for this is readily available. “Are you… not going to visit him?” Wakatoshi asks.

Eita looks up, rubbing his eyes desperately. “Oh,” he croaks.

Wakatoshi feels oddly inadequate, in a way he hasn’t felt since Tooru. Should he be crying in a corner as well? Is that what it should look like, to love someone? To be _in_ love with someone? 

Eita is his friend, a friend who has been through enough. Wakatoshi should not be wondering how to fall in love with his lover. 

Eita clears his throat, and Wakatoshi very much hopes he was not listening to his thoughts. He does not want Eita to look at him in the way that Hajime does. “Honestly I just… I’m trying to calm down. They gave me a bunch of instructions on what to do in there…” Eita tries to rub his tears away. “I just… My brain feels like a brick in a washing machine and I can’t listen and… and I’m going to do something dumb and get infected and… and he’d hate that so I’m just… trying to catch my breath first.”

Wakatoshi nods.

“Would you go in until then?” Eita asks, looking up at him too hopefully.

Wakatoshi freezes. 

“I know this stuff is odd for you,” Eita says, with a hard sniffle, looking away. “But if you could just… be there for him? And tell him I’m coming in as soon as I can? Just give him the love he deserves until then?” 

It seems oddly like a test, and Wakatoshi doesn’t know what the right answer is. But he also knows that Tendou would do whatever Eita asked of him, even if it twisted the confusing spike in his chest a little further into his heart.

“Of course,” he murmurs. “I… I will take care of him.”

-X-

“May I touch them?” Wakatoshi murmurs, once Kuroo has handed him a mask and led him inside.

“Should be alright, yeah,” Kuroo says. “Just be careful not to touch your eyes, mouth or nose until you’ve washed your hands. I don’t think it’s touch-based at all once it’s left Sakusa, but… why risk it.”

Wakatoshi nods, squatting down to place his hand on Tsutomu’s head. The boy sleeps on, face peaceful behind the pale, sickly veneer. Wakatoshi’s heart twinges, but he pulls away before he wakes him, instead stepping to Satori’s bed.

Satori’s eyes flicker open when Wakatoshi steps close. His eyes are glassy and his breaths are short, but he seems relieved to see Wakatoshi. There’s a flicker as though he’s trying once more to cover his burns but still can’t muster a real illusion right now. “Waka-chan,” he rasps. “How are you?”

“Well,” Wakatoshi says. His chest aches with an unfamiliar severity. “We are all well.”

Satori nods, struggling to swallow. “Eita?”

Wakatoshi sits carefully on the edge of Satori’s bed. “He has opted to stay away until he is calm enough to listen to Kuroo’s instructions. He sends his love.”

The corner of Satori’s lip curls up a little. “’S nice. I’m proud of him,” he says.

It’s the first time Wakatoshi has had a chance to take a good look at Tendou’s true form. His face is gnarled with burns and his ragged hair falls over it in disordered tufts, sticking to his sweaty cheek in places. It’s a great deal longer than his mirage would suggest, thick and wild. He looks wilted, shivering like a dry leaf about to fall. He meets Wakatoshi’s eyes, his own eyes narrowed to slits. “Really am sorry ‘bout the scars,” he says. “I’m too tired to hide them.”

The pain in Wakatoshi’s chest twists, radiating down to his fingers. “Please do not apologize,” he whispers. “It is not an issue.” His hand moves forward before he realizes, tangling into Satori’s hair and brushing it from his face. He brings it around to cup Satori’s cheek in his hand.

Satori goes quiet and still, trying to stifle a cough as though he believes this moment will end if he startles it with too much noise.

Wakatoshi moves his hand away carefully, sliding it down Satori’s shoulder and around his back so there’s not a moment in which Satori feels he is pulling away. Placing his other hand under Satori’s knee, he pulls him into his lap with ease, turning them both around so he can sit on the bed, Satori’s head in the crook of his shoulder, the rest of him in Wakatoshi’s arms.

Satori shivers to a halt, afraid to move. “Waka?” he croaks.

“Eita asked me,” Wakatoshi says, bringing his hand to the back of Satori’s head to hold him close, “to give you the care you deserve, while he is gone.” He wishes it didn’t sound so much like an excuse.

“Oh,” Satori says, finally succumbing to the cough he’s been forcing down for a few minutes now. It’s wet and hacking, and leaves black flecks on his lips. “Ok.”

His hair is soft against Wakatoshi’s collar, and Wakatoshi can feel each shuddering breath roll through his fragile body, and each of Satori’s coughs seems to rattle in Wakatoshi’s chest, dislodging new and unfamiliar feelings. Wakatoshi wants to hold him tighter and also feels as though any greater pressure may have Satori’s weak body crumbling like a dead leaf.

A single tear manages to break loose, rolling hot and silent down Wakatoshi’s cheek and landing on Satori’s forehead. Satori looks up blearily, almost dozing back off, but his eyes widen when he sees Wakatoshi’s face.

“Are you… crying?” he manages, and then collapses into a coughing fit.

“It has never occurred to me how easy it would be to lose you,” Wakatoshi says. “Nor, I think, how…” His voice cracks, suddenly enough to startle even him, and Satori hisses. “… Nor how frightening it would be.”

“Oh,” Tendou wheezes. “Oh, shit, Waka. Don’t cry. I’ll be fine, honest.”

Wakatoshi pulls him in, hugging him as tight as he dares. Satori’s arms are weak and quivering, but he wraps them around Wakatoshi as well, hugging back until he falls back asleep, going limp in Wakatoshi’s arms with a shaky snore.

-X-

Though it’s perhaps a tad insulting to Eita, Wakatoshi had not expected to see him so soon.

“If you see me rubbing my eyes,” Eita says, sniffling and blinking away tears, “just whack me.”

“I would prefer not to hit you,” Wakatoshi says.

“Then stop me somehow else,” Eita sighs. “We’re not supposed to touch our eyes while we’re in here, especially not after touching him, but I think I’ll forget.” He clambers into the bed beside Wakatoshi, worming his way under Wakatoshi’s arm so he can snuggle up to Tendou as well.

Wakatoshi swallows. He has never thought of his strength as particularly frightening. He has had it much of his life and he knows how to control it. But he’s never had anything quite so _fragile_ in his arms before, and now there are two of them.

“Are you frightened?” Eita whispers, his thin fingers wrapping around Wakatoshi’s. Tendou mumbles in his sleep.

Wakatoshi nods.

“I didn’t think you could be frightened.”

“I did not think so either,” Wakatoshi murmurs. Of course, he’d always been certain he knew what he was doing, before he and Oikawa Tooru had turned everything upside down for each other.

Wakatoshi has never felt raw panic before, but he is fairly certain this is what it’s like.

Eita leans his head onto Tendou’s stomach, looking up at Wakatoshi. He seems to have stopped crying, mostly.

Wakatoshi is almost certain the right thing to do right now is to leave. Tendou and Eita are, though slightly more confused about it than the Iwaizumis, in love. In love in the way Wakatoshi doesn’t understand, and which he has caused so much pain misinterpreting before. This time, he should step aside, but the thought of letting either of them go pains him.

It was so much easier being wrong, but still assuming he knew what he was doing.

“I don’t want to leave him,” Wakatoshi says, finally, hand settling tightly on the back of Tendou’s head. “I don’t understand and I don’t wish to intrude when the two of you have a chance at happiness, but I am frightened of losing him and I don’t want to leave.”

It’s childish to erupt like this.

Eita takes his hand, the one hovering uselessly in Tendou’s lap, and squeezes. “Wakatoshi,” he says, and he does not sound angry or jealous as far as Wakatoshi can tell. “I don’t know what the hell could have led you to believe that Satori and I know what we’re doing, but I can guarantee you the fact that you don’t understand what’s going on here doesn’t mean you’re disqualified from this relationship. Hell, I think it’s a prerequisite.”

Wakatoshi swallows hard. “You’re not… jealous?”

Eita sighs, pausing as though to mull it over. “No, I don’t think so,” he says. “I like you too, you know.”

Wakatoshi nods. He squeezes Eita’s fingers as well as he dares.

“You know, it’s weird to see you rattled,” Eita says. “I don’t know if it freaks me out or makes me feel better.”

“You’re not crying,” Wakatoshi offers. He’s starting to realize that he _is_.

Eita lets out a thoughtful noise. “Hell,” he says slowly. “If I’m the most stable one here, we’re fucked.”

Wakatoshi isn’t sure what to say to that. He wants to reassure Eita that he is, in fact, a very good friend to rely on, but Eita is really only reliable a little more than half of the time, so that doesn’t make him particularly stable. Wakatoshi doesn’t really want to lie to him.

“Noooo, don’t say that Eita, you’re very stable,” Tendou croaks, a little too worn for sarcasm. “Is what you should say, Waka.”

“Don’t,” Eita snaps, though Wakatoshi can hear the smile hiding behind his mask. “You know I don’t like being lied to.”

Tendou fumbles a little, but he manages to pat Eita sloppily on the head. “White lies are different.”

“They are _not._ ”

“Why are they,” Tendou starts, though he has to stop to cough for a few seconds, “called _white_ lies, then. They’re not just _lies_.”

“They’re still called lies!” Eita growls, though there’s _definitely_ a laugh in there somewhere. “Adding a word in there doesn’t stop making it a lie! A black bear is still a fucking bear!”

“Yeah, well,” Tendou says, slumping against Wakatoshi as he tumbles into coughs again, “morning wood ain’t real wood, is it?”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Eita sighs.

Tendou gives a wheezing laugh. “I thought it was kind of funny,” he says.

“You’re painful,” Eita mutters.

“Everyone’sa critic,” Tendou says, with a rattling wheeze. “I can’ keep my eyes open.”

“Rest,” Wakatoshi says. “We will take care of you.”

“Cann b’lieve I get botha ya,” Tendou slurs, his head bobbing “Th’shit did I do to’zerv this?”

“Go back to sleep, you lizard,” Eita says, looking decidedly teary eyed yet again. 

“Hot f’ra lizard,” Tendou mutters, and then falls asleep. 

Eita rubs at his stomach quietly, and they sit in silence. Wakatoshi thinks Eita dozes off after a while, but Wakatoshi stays awake, holding Tendou and Eita close. They seem to have both made him their pillow at this point, so he can do little else. 

Shirabu and Kawanishi come in at some point to visit, likely having spent the whole day managing the chaos from the hospital despite Wakatoshi’s absence. They see Tendou’s shuddering snoring in Wakatoshi’s arms, Eita curled around them both, and end up on Tsutomu’s bed instead, waiting for him to wake up. 

Tsutomu, fortunately, looks like he’s getting better. After waking up and eating the candies that Kawanishi makes Shirabu give him, he hobbles over to Wakatoshi, Shirabu and Kawanishi steading him, and puts his hand on Tendou’s forehead. “Did I get him sick?” he whispers.

“We would have been more careful had we known it was contagious,” Wakatoshi says. “You can’t fault yourself.”

Tsutomu’s lip quivers dangerously, but he nods. “I’m feeling a lot better. I think my fever’s going down too,” he says, though he still looks about as pale as the wall behind him and he’s shaking around the coughs he’s still suppressing. 

“Continue to rest,” Wakatoshi tells him. “You are still ill. But it’s a good sign if you are recuperating.” It means this disease is beatable, and that Tendou, too, has a chance.

-X-

Akaashi comes in a day later, looking extremely uncomfortable in the face mask. He eyes Eita, who is leaning on Wakatoshi’s shoulder, Tendou’s head in his lap while Tendou’s hand curls around Wakatoshi’s thumb weakly. “How are you handling this?” he asks.

Eita shrugs. “My worst memories aren’t of doctors. Also no offense, but I don’t believe your boyfriend there could hurt a flea. He’s been singing nursery rhymes to that little girl for twenty minutes now.”

Akaashi looks at Kuroo, who indeed has the little girl with the antennae in his lap, reciting some song about a baker, both out loud and in what seems to be sign language. Akaashi still shudders. “I can’t stand it. Any of it,” he says. “But I thought you’d like to know I’ve been talking with Sakusa.”

“Did he have anything else to add?” Wakatoshi asks.

“Besides a lot of very arrogant crap about how I should have killed him?” Akaashi snaps. He groans, barely stopping himself from rubbing his eyes. “Yes, actually. He says he touched a few of the people who took and he might have seen those same people later. Which means they likely have a cure or a vaccine for his disease, and it’s fast acting.”

“Is it the modified strain, though?” Kuroo calls. 

“No,” Keiji says. “Likely not. But if we get our hands on it, perhaps we can see if it still works?”

“It’s no guarantee, but I suppose it might help,” Wakatoshi says.

“Can we get a hold of that information?” Kuroo asks.

Akaashi sighs. “Kenma is doing his best, but he says it’s unlikely we’ll be able to get much from Zurui without having access to his computer.”

“Which is guarded by a small army of militants,” Eita says.

“Look, they might just recover by themselves,” Kuroo groans, ruffling his hair. “Goshiki was the second one infected and he’s barely running a fever anymore.”

“Tendou is still just as feverish,” Wakatoshi says. He’s not sure that will convince them of much, but it certainly does spark a sense of urgency in _him_.

“Wakatoshi is right,” Akaashi says. “Kimi is just getting sicker as well. We have to face the fact that even if Goshiki-kun recovers, this disease could very much come with a mortality rate.”

“You want to break in,” Kuroo grumbles. 

“I do,” Akaashi says, looking like he’s forcing himself to stand straight and be unafraid. “And I’m not sure how Koutarou did it, but he seems to have talked Fukurodani into it.” His brows furrow over his mask. “Maybe it’s his stupid smile. It’s enchanting.”

“You may have any of my men,” Wakatoshi says. “Whatever you need.”

Akaashi rubs at his neck. “You know, I’m a little biased but… with Koutarou rallying them and a good enough plan, I think… I think we can actually do this.”

Kuroo chews at his lip nervously. “We’ll still need to synthesize a cure for the modified strain…”

Akaashi jerks, pulling out his phone suddenly. He sighs. “Tooru is calling me.”

-X-

“See, this is why you can’t banish me from the action,” Tooru whines. “How will you connect the dots without the great Iwaizumi Tooru…”

“Get to the point,” Kenma mutters from one corner.

“How are you still this eager?” Akaashi moans. “You’re painful to watch, Tooru.”

“Why is he here?” Hajime asks, pointing at Sakusa, who is standing as far as possible from all of them.

“Tooru insisted,” Akaashi sighs.

“Tooru, when I told you to stay away from any quarantined areas, I did not mean _quarantine areas sans the actual fucking source_.”

“It’s _fine_ , he’s wearing a mask,” Tooru whines.

“Gods, Tooru,” Akaashi groans.

“Aka-chan, shush, I know what I’m doing,” Tooru says. “Anyway, I’ve been listening in, and I’ve got a solution for you. Sakusa made a friend in the compound who can synthesize chemicals.”

Sakusa looks up, frowning. “What?” He puts it together a moment later, eye widening. “Komori? Are you kidding? I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him.”

“Didn’t he help you escape?” Akaashi asks.

“And that’s been great for everyone, hasn’t it?” Sakusa snaps back. 

Akaashi shrugs as if to say _point taken._

At this point, Tendou would probably make a joke. “To be fair, I could throw him quite far,” Wakatoshi murmurs.

Tooru cackles, holding up a hand. Wakatoshi blinks at him. “High _five_ me, you _animal_ ,” Tooru hisses. Hajime has buried his face in his hands and does not seem to be breathing.

Wakatoshi smacks his hand gently.

“ _Thank you_ ,” Tooru says. “Anyway, he’s still at the Institute. I’ll have a chat with him and once I’ve ok-ed him, you can give him whatever you find and see what he can make out of it.”

“And if he makes some kind of poison?” Sakusa asks.

“We can always test it on Tendou,” Hajime mutters, but when he notices Wakatoshi’s barely restrained glare, he sighs. “Ok, ok, no, I’m not serious.”

“If he makes it intentionally, I’ll notice,” Tooru points out. “And if it’s accidental… um. We’ll figure it out as we go, alright, I just wanna do something already!”

Hajime rubs at his forehead. “You’re driving me into an early grave, sweetheart.”

“I’ll be super duper careful, Iwa-chan!” Tooru says, nuzzling into Hajime’s hair. Hajime doesn’t move or change his expression, but his shoulders do loosen at the touch.

Wakatoshi stares. “Since you’re both Iwaizumi,” he says, slowly. “Are you also Iwa-chan?”

“How _dare_ you,” Tooru whispers, and before Wakatoshi can ask what that means, he’s already marched straight out of the room.

-X-

Though he feels as though he should be beside Akaashi, planning their break in, Wakatoshi ends up back in Satori’s bed, Satori settled in his lap. Satori gives a halfhearted, breathy chuckle, hand over his eyes. Wakatoshi thumbs at his shoulder.

“I’m actually like…” Satori starts, taking a wobbling breath. “Really scared of dying.”

“You’re not going to die,” Eita mutters.

“How d’ya know?” Satori mumbles.

“Because if you die when I’m almost certain I’m in love with you I’ll have to do unspeakable things to your ghost,” Eita says. 

Satori actually laughs at that, but it dissolves into coughs. “Almost?”

“You’ll have to live to get certain,” Eita says. “I’m not going to finally fall in love with a dead man. That’s too much tragedy for me.”

“Aw, come on,” Satori whines, but Eita doesn’t budge. “Waka, how about you?”

“I might be in love with you,” Wakatoshi says. He mulls it over. “But I think I may also be more certain when you are better.”

Satori wheezes in amusement. “Man, you guys are brutal,” he says, coughing even harder. His brow furrows and his hand flies to his throat hesitantly. His breathing sounds more and more ragged. “I…” he says, slowly, gasping for breath. “Can’t breathe,” he manages, throat clicking as he tries to pull in a breath.

Somehow, Eita manages to react first, diving out of bed and out the door, yelling for Kuroo. Wakatoshi tries to sit Satori up, in case it helps, but he only gets more of the strangled, hiccuping choking.

Kuroo rushes to his side. Somewhere in the distance, Wakatoshi can hear Akaashi yelling, “Tetsurou! Face mask!” but it doesn’t seem to matter.

“You!” Kuroo says, pointing at Tsutomu, who is already by the side of the bed. He looks pale, but almost entirely better. “Can you make me a needle?” He holds up his hands. “This long, about this thick.”

Tsutomu nods, and very soon there’s a glowing purple needle in Kuroo’s hand. “Just keep this up until I say stop, alright?”

Tsutomu nods. 

“Hold him steady,” Kuroo tells Wakatoshi, and Yamagata moves to hold Satori’s knees.

Wakatoshi holds him steady with one arm and uses the other to clutch Satori’s head to his shoulder, smoothing his hair away from his face. He has to look away when Kuroo pushes the needle in, but after a moment he hears Satori draw in a desperate breath and the beating in his ears dies down a little.

“Fuck,” Eita wheezes. “Oh, fuck.” He’s shaking like a leaf, so Wakatoshi stretches out his own shaky hand and grips his wrist as hard as he dares, holding Satori closer with the other.

“Shit,” Kuroo says, looking at his hand. There are black streaks running down his fingers. He chuckles weakly. “Well. Apparently blood is a factor. Careful with that.”

“Right,” Wakatoshi says numbly.

“Oh man,” Kuroo mutters. “Kenma’s gonna _kill_ me.”

As if on queue, Kenma bursts into the room at that exact moment, likely alerted by Akaashi.

Kuroo looks slowly down at his hand, then back up at Kenma. “Uh,” he says. “Ok, so I should have been wearing gloves and a mask but he couldn’t _br-_ ”

He can’t finish, because Kenma lets out an ungodly snarl and smashes him against the wall. “ _How could you… what did you… you…”_ He lets out a cry and slams his fist through the wall behind Kuroo. Kuroo doesn’t so much as flinch.

Kenma stands motionless, fist halfway into the wall, breathing heavily. He turns his gaze to Tendou, his eyes barely human with rage, and Wakatoshi pulls him closer, shifting his legs so he can move quickly if necessary. He does not want to have to fight Kenma if things go south.

“It’s not his fault,” Kuroo murmurs. “I’m a doctor, this is what I do. I should have grabbed gloves.”

“You’re right,” Kenma says, looking away. Wakatoshi and Eita both let out a relieved breath. “It’s Zurui’s fault. Everything he’s done to Keiji and now _this_ …”

Akaashi looks on from the doorway, quiet. 

“Keiji,” Kenma says, hair obscuring his face. When he pulls his head up slowly, his eyes are burning even more deadly than before. “I hope your plan needs a diversion, because I am _fucking_ this guy _up_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week: shit damn shit why did I plan a heist for this fic oh my god
> 
> OR: Bokuto makes a plan (Akaashi helps).


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone was wondering, when I was writing this chapter was when all my tumblr posts were like "yeah i should be banned from akaashi probably"
> 
> Warnings for very brief mentions of (more like hints at) Akaashi's past (sexual trafficking/non-con/etc).

Koutarou sighs. “Has he been resting at all?” he asks.

Kenma looks up from where he’s sitting against the wall, silent and fuming, a ticking time bomb. He shakes his head.

“Alright, I got it,” Koutarou mutters, stomping after the question at hand. “Tetsu, babe,” he says, clapping a hand over Tetsurou’s forehead from behind. “You gotta lay down.”

“I will in a second,” Tetsurou says. He’s burning up, but he’s still be up and at it since Koutarou last saw him this morning, rotating ice packs and administering pain medication. He coughs and tries to free himself from Koutarou’s arm, but Koutarou tugs him back, wrapping his wings and arms around him.

“Tetsu,” he scolds. “Lay down. Hajime’s got this.”

“He’s right,” Hajime calls from where he’s petting Yahaba’s back. “At this point we’ve just got to keep everyone comfortable and hope for the best.”

“What if there’s another collapsed lung?” Tetsurou mumbles, seemingly unaware that Koutarou has already dragged him into a bed, limbs trailing after him. “You’re not a surgeon.”

“No offense, but with how shitty you’re doing, even my horrible non-surgeon work will be more precise,” Hajime says. “We’ll wake you up if we need instructions for something.”

“But…” Tetsurou mumbles, trying to sit up.

“Kuro,” Kenma croaks from the floor, and that shuts Tetsurou up.

Koutarou tucks Tetsurou in, then squats down in front of Kenma. Thankfully, the mask lets him tweak Kenma’s nose with a knuckle. Kenma fixes him with a tired look.

“You gonna make it?” Koutarou asks.

Kenma nods, but Koutarou knows if he was in a good enough mood to elaborate, the answer would be “I sure will be after I snap Zurui’s neck.” He’s not sure how he feels about that.

“Hang in there,” he says, standing back up.

As luck would have it, he finds Yukie in the hallway with only Suzumeda. He tugs her aside by her elbow. “Look,” he says, tapping his fingers together to calm himself. “You’re the only one here who can move around freely outside, so I need to ask a favor.”

Yukie raises an eyebrow. “What kind of favor?”

“A favor you can say no to if you’re not ok with it,” Koutarou says. “But if you’re willing, I need you to keep Zurui away from the house while we’re there.”

She furrows her brow. “You’re worried about Akaashi,” she says.

“Yeah, mostly. Also Kenma’s gonna rip him apart if they end up in one room together and I don’t know if that’ll be good for anyone,” Koutarou says. “It might, but… Kenma’s not really thinking for the long term right now.”

She snorts. “Ok, Sunflower,” she says. “I think I can keep him distracted.”

“Thanks,” he says. “Keiji?”

“Memorizing blueprints,” she says. “I think he needs a hug.”

“I’m on it,” Koutarou says with a grin.

He finds Keiji just where he’d expected to find him, poring over the blueprints and chewing at his thumb.

“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to,” Koutarou says, wrapping himself around Keiji.

“You know very well that would just be worse for me,” Keiji snaps.

“Yeah, yeah,” Koutarou says.

“Anyway, I’m only trying to figure out how to get Konoha to the powerbox so he can turn off the power and then the alarm.”

“Where is it?” Koutarou asks.

Kenma had found them some good blueprints of the house, though it hadn’t included the secret basement. Still, it’s better than nothing. Keiji points at the powerbox. “There’s a second story balcony here, it’s in the corner of that.” He chews at his lip. “It’s over the water, so Suzumeda could certainly get him there, but he’d have to climb up.”

“Can’t Saru do that?” Koutarou asks.

Keiji raises an eyebrow. “ _Can_ he?”

“Sure,” Koutarou says. “He just has to climb up far enough for Konoha to use him as a handhold and then stay put. I’m sure he can do it.”

Keiji stares at him, but then nods slowly. “Alright,” he says, slowly. “If the alarm is off and Kenma is… distracting everyone, we should be able to get in easily.”

“We should split up,” Koutarou says. “Washio can pry open the elevator doors and Komi can climb through small gaps pretty well, so they can check out the basement, and we can get in through the roof and check out the upstairs.”

Keiji nods slowly. “Alright,” he murmurs. “I think that’ll work.”

Koutarou smiles, putting his hands on Keiji’s shoulders. “Of course it will.”

“I’ve been looking through Zurui’s social media,” Keiji says, face twisting again. “He’s going to be at a charity benefit tomorrow night. We should go then, while he’s gone.”

Koutarou nods. “Ok,” he murmurs. “I’ll tell the others what the plan is. You just get some rest, alright?”

Keiji nods, leaning back against Koutarou’s chest. “I can do this,” he murmurs.

“I know,” Koutarou whispers back, kissing his nose.

-X-

“Hey,” Yukie calls after him. She’s wearing one of Kiyoko’s old dresses, and her hair is better combed than usual. “Feathers. Zip me up, will ya?”

“Oh,” Koutarou says, bouncing behind her. “Sure.”

“Is Keiji going to be alright?” she asks.

Koutarou chews at his lip, focusing on the zipper. “I think so.”

“I’ll do my best to make sure Zurui doesn’t get near him,” she murmurs. “I can’t say I know exactly what Zurui did to him, but I know he panicked when he found out it was Zurui fucking with us.”

Koutarou nods. “It’s… complicated.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she says. “I’ll keep an eye on that fucker.”

“Thanks,” Koutarou says with a smile.

He goes to check on Kenma next. Kenma has barely moved in the last few days, and Koutarou is worried about him. Even more than he’s worried about Keiji.

“Hey,” he says, when he finds Kenma. Tetsurou is sleeping in the bed next to him. “You going to be ok?”

Kenma looks up at him with a blank look. Koutarou has been worried about him ever since the amusement park, and he worries this might just be the last straw. He’s scared to find out what happens when all the tension Kenma carries within him in every moment snaps.

“Yes,” Kenma croaks.

Behind them, Ushijima suddenly clears his throat.

Kenma looks up at him, eyes narrowing. “What,” he spits.

“You’ll be the focus of attention tonight,” Ushijima says. “And many of Zurui’s men will be armed.”

“So?” Kenma growls.

“So far as I know, you are not bulletproof,” Ushijima says. “I am.” He extends his hand. “If you’d like my power for the duration of the night, I’m willing to give it to you.”

Kenma stares at the hand.

If this wasn’t such a weird moment, Koutarou would hug Ushijima, because he’s done a lot more than he realizes. By offering to help Kenma, he’s managed to chisel away a little of the rage that’s eating away at Kenma.

“You should lay down,” Kenma says, a touch of that raw, deadly tone seeping out of his voice. “You’ll be out for a couple of hours, I think.”

Ushijima nods, making his way back to Tendou’s bed. Kenma clambers to his feet, looking stiff from the hours upon hours spent in this corner. He lets Ushijima get comfortable, pulling a sleepy Tendou into his arms, then tugs off his glove and takes Ushijima’s hand.

He lets go about a minute later, once Ushijima has quietly slumped against Tendou.

Semi watches him carefully. “Hey,” he says, carefully.

Kenma blinks at him, as though Semi looks entirely different with Ushijima’s memories at hand.

“Toss a car into his wall or something for me, alright?” Semi asks.

“Alright,” Kenma says, his tone nearly as soft as if he was speaking to Tetsurou. He turns away quickly, as if to distance himself from the memories.

-X-

It’s almost dark by the time they get to Zurui’s beach house, dark enough that Keiji and Koutarou can hide in the bushes as Kenma stands beside them, glaring down the garage next to the house. There’s a few people milling about, loading things next to the jeeps in the lot between the two houses.

“Please be careful,” Keiji whispers.

“Trust me,” Kenma says, already walking towards the garage. “I’m not the one who should be worried.”

Keiji watches him go, shaking his head. “After this we’re going to have to sit him down and make sure he’s alright.”

“We’ll wrap him in a sheet and have a nice little group cuddle,” Koutarou says, right about the time that the first yell rings out as the men see Kenma for the first time.

A shot rings out, then another, and then there’s the sound of creaking metal. Koutarou peeks out of the bush just in time to see Kenma lifting a jeep and swinging it straight through the side of the house.

Several people dash out of the house, guns firing, but Kenma just strides towards another jeep, throwing it into the garage. Several lights explode, plunging everything into complete darkness.

“At least he’s still thinking,” Keiji says.

“Huh?” Koutarou says.

“If he takes out the lights, no one will notice the power going out,” Keiji says. “And they won’t think to run back and check the house when it does.”

“Oh,” Koutarou says. “I hadn’t even thought of that.”

The only light now is one light in the house that had been left on, which makes the sounds of screaming, metal crashing and guns firing slightly eerie. Koutarou just hopes that Kenma won’t actually kill anyone.

The light in the house goes out quietly, and Keiji taps Koutarou on the shoulder.

Koutarou pulls him close. The extra weight unbalances him at first, and it takes two tries to get up in the air, but now that his flying instinct has finally clicked, this doesn’t seem to be too difficult to get used to.

Keiji clings to him, eyes squeezed shut, hissing a little when they land on the roof.

Once they’ve landed, Keiji pulls out a flashlight and they search until they find a door to the downstairs. Keiji squats down, grabbing a screwdriver and undoing the hinges of the door.

Koutarou stoops down and pulls up the door once he’s finished, and they drop down into the dark house. They find one of the rooms, flipping a light switch.

Keiji grabs his hand, gesturing for him to stay still. When the light comes back on but no alarm goes off, he nods. “We shouldn’t turn on too many lights, or we might catch someone’s attention,” he murmurs, shining his light down the hallway. “Let’s go in order, so we don’t miss anything.”

He moves to go, but Koutarou stops him. “Let me lead,” he murmurs. “Just in case there’s something… you know. You shouldn’t see.”

Keiji swallows, the light in his hand shaking for a moment, but he nods, and when Koutarou pushes ahead of him, he takes his hand as he goes.

Koutarou turns out to be right, because there’s at least two rooms he ends up investigating alone while Keiji stays outside. One is a room with an atmosphere like the back room of a seedy club, and it’s not hard to figure out what it’s for. The other is full of pictures.

It’s a waste of time, but Koutarou gathers those up and tosses them into the oven of the kitchen they’d found a few minutes ago and burns them. Keiji doesn’t ask, just lets Koutarou take his hand again and lead him on.

They’ve searched the third floor and most of the second when Koutarou’s phone buzzes.

He slides it out, checking the caller ID. It’s Tetsurou’s phone, which is currently with Yukie. He picks up quickly.

“I lost him,” Yukie blurts, the moment he picks up.

Keiji stares at him, fingers tightening around Koutarou’s.

“How long ago?” Koutarou asks.

“A little while,” Yukie says. She sounds panicked. “I figured I would have noticed if he’d left so I kept looking around this party but I think he’s headed your way. Someone must have tipped him off.”

Koutarou pulls Keiji a little closer, and by the look on Keiji’s face he’s put it together.

“Oh, gods, I’m so, so sorry,” Yukie whispers. “I don’t know how I lost him.”

“It’s alright,” Koutarou says. “We’ll manage.”

Keiji turns the flashlight off, slipping his hand out of Koutarou’s so he can look around for a place to hide if they need too.

As if on cue, a stair creaks nearby, and Koutarou can see the edge of someone else’s flashlight beam at the end of the hall.

Keiji freezes.

Slowly but surely, Koutarou extends his hand. It doesn’t help. Keiji doesn’t move, just stares at Koutarou with wide eyes.

“Keiji,” he whispers. “Come here.”

Keiji is shaking, but he doesn’t so much as twitch.

“Keiji,” Koutarou whispers again, but as he says it, the flashlight beam comes around the bend.

There’s an odd, surreal moment where Koutarou finds himself staring into Keiji’s frightened eyes. Keiji is lit up from behind and it all feels like a dream. Koutarou almost feels like his body is moving without him, grabbing onto Keiji and pulling him behind him while he dives on, crashing into the person nearing them.

It all comes back to reality as Zurui’s gun clatters to the ground and his foot collides with Koutarou’s ribs.

It knocks him back, startling him, but not enough so that he can’t grab Zurui before he reaches for the gun. He wrestles him down, but Zurui is more vicious than he is, kicking at the wall and slamming Koutarou back into the opposite wall. Koutarou has wrestled people before, mostly schoolyard bullies, but never with wings, and he forgets to hold them in a good angle.

The kick pushes his wings into painful angles, and Koutarou hisses, his grip loosening just enough for Zurui to wrestle his way out of the grip and dive for the gun again.

Before he can get very far, Keiji hits him in the face with a chair.

Zurui falls back with a bloody nose, and Koutarou grabs him again, drawing a yelp out of Zurui that makes him start back before he crushes Zurui’s arms. This time he’s more careful about his wings as he wrestles him to the ground.

“Get something to tie him up with,” Koutarou says.

Keiji blinks at him. The folding chair he’d grabbed from the nearest room is still shaking in his hands.

“Keiji,” Koutarou says. Zurui is kicking at him again. “Rope, wire, anything.”

Keiji shakes his head, dropping the chair. “Right,” he says. “Right, yeah.”

He runs away, returning quickly with an extension cord and a large rope. The two of them somehow manage to tie Zurui into a pile of knots. Koutarou can’t really say that he feels good about the bruises he’s accidentally left on Zurui’s arms, but if he had to hurt anyone with this new grip, it would be Zurui.

“You alright?” Koutarou asks.

Keiji nods. He’s shaking less, it seems. He stumbles forward, standing in front of Zurui. “Where’s the computer room?” he asks.

“Akaashi Keiji,” Zurui sighs. “What happened to you? You were always so well behaved.”

Something shifts in Keiji, from scared to angry. “Tell me,” he says.

Zurui notices the change. By the way he reacts and the calmness with which he handles being injured and tied up, Koutarou wonders if he was in the military at some point. He’s an older man, but his hair is neatly trimmed and his body hardly looks frail. “I’m not going to tell you,” he says.

“Fine,” Keiji says. “Come on. Let’s keep looking.”

“It’s password protected anyway,” Zurui laughs.

Keiji turns around. “How about,” he says, “if you’d like to keep your hands, you’ll tell me the password.”

Koutarou wants to protest, but he knows Keiji is only bluffing. They’d planned on grabbing Kenma when they find the computer room. He stays quiet, letting Keiji stand tall in front of Zurui.

Zurui laughs. “Shame you’ve become so mouthy,” he says. “You were one of my favorites.”

Keiji’s eyes burn and he steps forward, but Koutarou grabs his arm. “He’s baiting you,” Koutarou whispers. “Don’t.”

Keiji stops, but he doesn’t turn away until Koutarou tugs at him gently.

The second they get to a part of the hallway where Zurui can’t see them, the anger vanishes and Keiji nearly collapses, breathing out a long breath, his hands gripping his knees tightly.

“Fuck,” he whispers.

“What do you need?” Koutarou asks.

Keiji looks up at him, blinking a few times. “You know,” he says. “I actually think hitting him with a chair was what I needed.”

Koutarou chuckles a little. “Let’s get this over with, so you never have to see that guy again,” he says, kissing Keiji’s forehead.

“Ok,” Keiji whispers. He glances back. “Should we leave him in the hallway?”

“I don’t know. You want me to shove him in a closet somewhere?”

Keiji frowns, then shakes his head. “No. Let’s just go.”

They find the computer room in the corner of the second floor. Koutarou turns on the computer, waiting for it to boot up. “I’ll go get Kenma,” he says.

Keiji pulls in a quick breath beside him. Koutarou whips his head around, but by the time he manages to look, Zurui is already on his feet, jerking Keiji back and sinking the needle into his neck. It only takes a fraction of a second before Keiji is collapsing, knees folding under him as he falls into Zurui’s grip.

Zurui holds him fast and presses a knife to his throat.

It’s been a long while since Koutarou has seen Keiji look quite _this_ mindlessly terrified, even as his eyes go glassy and his limbs go limp.

“Don’t,” Koutarou pleads. “Don’t hurt him.”

“Get on the ground.”

Koutarou hesitates, and Zurui presses the knife harder into Keiji’s throat, enough to draw blood, and then pulls it away again. Keiji’s head lolls. “I don’t want to slit his throat,” Zurui says. “He’d probably still sell well. But if you don’t get down, I will.”

Gods, Koutarou hopes Keiji is out cold. The thought of someone selling Keiji sends shivers down Koutarou’s spine. He bends one knee, to buy time. He can’t leap forward without Zurui slitting Keiji’s throat, but he also can’t let Zurui take Keiji. Hell, Keiji would probably rather die.

It can’t come to that. Koutarou has to think of something.

Someone moves in the doorway, and Koutarou doesn’t dare look. He hopes it’s someone on their side.

A big glob of slime hits the knife with stunning accuracy, knocking it away from Keiji’s throat.

In quick succession, two things happen: Komi’s tongue shoots out, dragging Keiji away from Zurui, and Koutarou darts forward, tackling Zurui around the waist and refusing to stop until they’ve shattered through the window.

It takes him a moment to reorient himself, the smashing sounds of the glass still ringing in his ears. He’s pretty sure he has cuts all over his wings, and Zurui’s back probably didn’t escape without getting some glass. Still, he holds fast, flapping quickly so they stay up in the air.

“Put me down!” Zurui roars.

“Look,” Koutarou says, swooping upwards. “I honestly don’t wanna hurt you. Give me the password and we can deal with this peacefully, ok?”

Zurui kicks and screams as he talks. “PUT ME DOWN NOW.”

Koutarou finds himself feeling weirdly little as he drops him.

Zurui shrieks, and Koutarou plummets after him, grabbing his ankle before he can get too close to the ground. He starts dragging them back up. “Look, just give me the password,” Koutarou sighs. “And… even though you hurt Keiji, I won’t kill you.”

Zurui claws at the air wildly. “Fucking hell!” he yells. “You fucking dropped me.”

Koutarou drops him again, this time grabbing him again quickly.

“ALRIGHT. ALRIGHT, I’LL TELL YOU THE… FUCK. IT’S 251670”

“Thanks!” Koutarou chirps, and carries them back to the broken window, swooping inside and dropping Zurui. Keiji is in Washio’s arms, and the moment Washio catches sight of Zurui, he curls over him, spikes extending from his shoulder.

Komi leaps over to secure Zurui, and Koutarou stumbles towards Washio. “I got the password,” he wheezes, stumbling back to the computer. “How’s Keiji?”

“He’s fine,” Washio says. “Just passed out.”

“Thanks, guys,” Koutarou says, tapping in the code. There’s thousands and thousands of files that come up. “Uh.” He chews at his lip. “Hold on. We need Kenma.” He looks back at them. “You guys got this?”

“Yeah,” Konoha says. “I think so.”

“Don’t let anything happen to Keiji,” Koutarou says, then adds, “please.”

“Sure thing,” Komi says, sounding vastly entertained by the politeness of it.

Koutarou leaps from the window, swooping downwards. It’s not hard to find Kenma. He is, surprisingly, still doing a very good job with the diversion. Koutarou only has to find the gunshots and car noises, and he can easily see Kenma in the middle of it, punching the bottom half of a jeep off so he can throw the other half at the people shooting at him, then dive behind the bottom half. Koutarou swoops in beside him while the shooters are still dealing with the havoc that happens when half a jeep flies at you.

“We done already?” Kenma asks, breathing hard.

“I need help with the computer.”

Kenma groans. A stray shot rings out at them again, and Kenma responds by throwing the other half of the Jeep at the source. “Alright, I’m coming.”

Koutarou takes off quickly, before anyone can start firing again, and Kenma follows after.

They return to the upstairs room before anyone can notice where they’re flying in the dark. Koutarou is glad his wings are dark enough gray to fade into the night sky.

Kenma takes it all in. “This is the guy?” he asks, standing over Zurui.

“Uh,” Koutarou says. He doesn’t necessarily support the things that Kenma is no doubt capable of doing to someone who’s hurt Keiji the way Zurui has, but he doesn’t exactly want to stop it. “Yeah.”

Kenma makes a motion that looks much like he’s lazily poking Zurui’s leg with his toe, but the snapping sound and screaming that follows makes it obvious that’s not the case. The others flinch, but no one moves to stop him. “You,” Kenma says, voice quiet enough to vanish into the air, “are very lucky Koutarou is here.”

Kenma joins Koutarou at the computer. He glances at Keiji. “Is he alright?” he asks.

Koutarou nods. “Let’s just get out of here as fast as possible.”

Kenma hums, inspecting the file names. “I think I see their system,” he says, nudging Koutarou aside to fiddle with things for a while. “There. Virus type mutation. That’s Sakusa.”

“Can you save all the files on him? And we’ll see if there’s anything we can use from it?”

Kenma nods, sliding the pendrive in and tapping away at that keys. He frowns, leaning back, suddenly deep in thought.

“What?” Koutarou asks.

“It’s just…” Kenma says, moving aside a window to look at the other files. “They deal with genetic modification, right, I mean… maybe they have something that could--” His sentence cuts off, eyes widening. “ _Shit_.”

“What?!” Komi yelps. “What shit?!”

“The files were boobie trapped,” Kenma growls.

“So you can’t copy them?”

“I think I managed to copy what we need,” Kenma says, pulling out the drive and typing wildly. “But now it’s backing up and deleting material, so if there was _anything_ on here that would help with our powers it’s about to be _gone_ and…” He stops. “If I… if I just switch things around… I can make sure they can’t back it up but then…”

 _Then everything is gone,_ Koutarou thinks. “Can you still save a copy of… of something?”

“No time,” Kenma mumbles, fingers flying over the keys. “Or I won’t be able to wipe everything in time.”

A few more strokes and everything goes blue. Kenma sits back, weaving his hands in his hair.

There’s silence.

“You guys should get out of here,” Koutarou tells the others finally.

“What about Zurui?” Washio asks.

“I think… don’t like… kill him or anything,” Koutarou says. “But whatever.”

Komi grins in a way that should probably concern Koutarou, but he lets Komi drag the bound Zurui away, towards where Suzumeda is hopefully still waiting. Washio pulls Keiji into his arms, checking to see if Koutarou is alright with it. Koutarou waves at him to go. Kenma still hasn’t moved.

Koutarou slides the drive into his pocket. “Hey,” he says. “We gotta go. You might be bulletproof but I’m not.”

Kenma doesn’t move.

“You probably don’t wanna go fucking around with your genes anyway,” Koutarou says. “What if you ended up with a death touch, like Ushijima?”

Kenma’s fist goes through the monitor, but he doesn’t make a sound.

Koutarou goes quiet, stepping aside.

Kenma screams as he shakes the monitor off, chucking it through a window, and then stands up and kicks the desk in half in the same motion. He kicks a piece of desk halfway into the wall with a roar, and then puts his other foot through the computer.

Koutarou waits.

Kenma gives the monitor another feeble kick, but he just collapses to his knees, curling in on himself after that.

“I’m sorry,” Koutarou says.

Kenma looks up at him, tears streaming down his face, hair wild and teeth gritted. He doesn’t say anything, but he takes Koutarou’s hand when he extends it. Koutarou pulls him up into a cautious hug.

“We gotta go,” Koutarou murmurs.

Kenma sniffs once loudly, then nods.

Koutarou closes his fingers around Kenma’s wrist and tugs him out the window. They don’t talk on the way back to the island. There’s nothing to say.

-X-

Koutarou can’t really do much until McCoy and Komori can either find or not find a cure, so he waits with Keiji. Keiji wakes up in a flurry, like his brain remembered the crisis they were in before it switched off for a while, though not the details. He jolts up, fumbling, eyes unfocused. “Where am I?” he croaks. “Where am I?!”

“Back on the island,” Koutarou says, weaving through the flailing limbs so he can cup Keiji’s head firmly and look him in the eyes. “Hey. You’re safe.”

“Huh?” Keiji says, eyes shifting blearily to the side, taking in Koutarou’s wings.

“You’re safe,” Koutarou repeats.

Keiji reaches out with all the grace of a newborn to paw at his wings, falling over into Koutarou’s chest. “Soft,” he says, drooling over Koutarou’s collarbone. He pets the underbelly of Koutarou’s wing. He gives another feeble mumble of _soft_ , and then passes out again.

The next time he wakes with a bit more coherency, rubbing at his eyes. “What’s…” he slurs, pushing off of Koutarou’s chest. “What’s going on?”

“You got drugged, but you’re fine, and now we’re back on the island.”

Keiji frowns, processing the information. “Tetsurou!” he cries. “Did we… did we find anything?”

“Hopefully,” Koutarou says. “McCoy’s still looking at it.”

Keiji stumbles to his feet. “We should… we should be with Tetsurou,” he says, wobbling forward. “What happened while I was out?”

“Uh…” Koutarou says. “Some stuff.” He tries to recap it as best he can as they keep walking. Keiji takes it in quietly, leaning on Koutarou to steady himself.

“I’m glad you didn’t hurt him,” Keiji whispers. “Though I’m also glad Kenma did.” He smiles slowly. “And I’m also overjoyed you scared the shit out of him.”

Koutarou stops and pulls him close. “I’m never, ever going to let anyone hurt you like that again,” he murmurs.

Keiji hugs him back tightly, then pulls away. “It’s ok,” he says. “I’m ok.” He smiles earnestly. “Let’s check on Tetsurou.”

Tetsurou is coherent enough when they get there. Kenma is curled up in his armpit, snoring softly. “How is he?” Keiji whispers.

“I don’t know,” Tetsurou says. “Doubt he’ll open up until I’m be--” He coughs hard, then gasps a few breaths in.  “... Better.”

Keiji sighs, slipping into bed next to Tetsurou, occupying his other armpit.

“Aw, man,” Koutarou says. “Why do you two always get the good spots?”

“I’m traumatized,” Keiji mumbles.

“Now I know you’re fine,” Koutarou sighs, settling between Tetsurou’s knees and blanketing all of them in his wings. Keiji just smirks at him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Savior's birthday! Which means I've gone a FULL YEAR without ever having missed an update. Christ. Speaking of which, I might have to take a break from this verse for a little while.
> 
> Next week there's gonna be one more chapter to wrap things up and then I'm going to let my brain rest. 
> 
> I do have a LOT of plans for Kenma's fic, but I really do need some time to breathe, write some other stuff maybe. I found that throughout a lot of this story I was comparing it to Savior and Burn and just generally being very stressed about people losing interest or feeling like it was a chore... and I don't want to hate this verse because I love the universe and the way I've set up the characters. So, depending on how I feel, I'll start posting the next part at the very latest for Kenma's birthday.
> 
> BUT feel free to continue asking me about the characters or anything on Tumblr, because I really do like talking about it and it's very fun to play around in this verse!


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “There’s nothing to open up about,” Kenma says. “I was worried about you, and my powers suck. Same as always.”
> 
> “I just feel like you’re getting to some kind of breaking point,” Tetsurou says.
> 
> Kenma is quiet. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. Ok. So this is the second to last chapter, it seems, because I want to end this on a Bokuto POV (and also fxvixen suggested a small epilogue like in Burn and she was, in fact, right).
> 
> I'm not sure how soon I can get it done because I am working on other things for a while, but hopefully this week sometime and at the latest next Monday!

Kenma groans the second he steps back into the room. Tetsurou is back on his feet, helping Ushijima with something in Tendou’s bed. Kenma can’t really be all that mad, not with the taste of Ushijima’s fear still in the back of his mind.

“Kuro,” he mumbles, wrapping one arm around his waist and lifting him up. “Back to bed.”

“I’m just…” Tetsurou starts, cut off by a wheeze, “showing them how to support him so he can breathe easier.”

“Uhuh,” Kenma says, plopping him back into bed. “Sleep.”

Tetsurou whines at him, but by the time Kenma tucks him in, he already has his eyes closed.

Kenma sits beside him and stares back at Ushijima. He feels weirdly hollowed out, sort of like an empty shell after he’s blown out all his rage and Ushijima’s memories and feelings have faded. There’s still a persistent spike of worry that throbs with Tetsurou’s breaths and even with the choked, desperate wheezing of Tendou’s.

Ushijima’s memories are gone, but the grueling truth that if Komori and McCoy can’t make a cure soon, Tendou won’t live much longer than a day or two remains a surprisingly frightening thought lodged in Kenma’s chest.

“Tell Hajime he’s got to get a respirator for him,” Tetsurou murmurs, as if he knows what Kenma’s thinking. “It’ll buy him some time.”

Kenma swallows the lump in his throat, texting Hajime so he can get on it whenever he wakes up from the small nap he’s taking. He’s been working tirelessly too, trying to coach Matsukawa and Hanamaki through applying ice and giving people pain medication with Yachi. Kiyoko is one of the fast healers too, which has left Yachi to fret over Yahaba and Suga. She’s even taken the liberty of calling Daichi.

That seems like something Kenma could have done, if he wasn’t so exhausted just by his own existence right now.

Suga has been sulky about Daichi again, but they’re talking now, and it’s not like Kenma has anything better to do than eavesdrop.

He settles into the bed next to Tetsurou and listens.

“You stalked my Facebook,” Daichi says.

“I did  _ not _ ,” Suga mutters.

“Yes, you did, because I know exactly what you saw,” Daichi says. “I posted pictures of me and Yui right before you stop texting me. Again.”

“ _ Coincidence _ ,” Suga insists, but he’s too feverish to make it convincing lie.

“Stop,” Daichi sighs, slipping into bed beside Suga. “Those pictures are a year old. I lost the camera after we took them, but it was an important night for both of us, so when I found the camera I posted them, even though we’ve broken up since.”

“Oh, sure,” Suga says, with a sniffle and a cough. “That doesn’t sound like you’re trying to trick me into cheating on your girlfriend with you.”

“Suga,” Daichi says, barely holding back with a laugh. “You’re an empath. Do I really feel like I’m trying to hit on you right now?”

There’s a pause, and then a half sobbed, “No.”

“Suga,” Daichi says again. “Suga, I didn’t say it was out of the question.” Suga sniffles loudly. “I just wanted to clarify, because you’re upset, and I don’t want you to be upset.”

“But you don’t like me,” Suga moans.

“I have been trying very hard not to think about it,” Daichi sighs. “Because you seemed like you needed a friend, not someone who was trying to get it on with you.”

“What if I want to get it on with  _ you _ .”

“Then I think we should gradually work our way up to a date,” Daichi says.

“Ok,” Suga mumbles.

Yachi punches the air quietly, making Kiyoko smile. 

“You know what, none of you are subtle!” Suga snaps, sitting up and then quickly laying back down. “I’m really dizzy.”

Daichi ruffles his hair, but then turns around with a slightly frightening glare. “He’s right, you can all stop eavesdropping.”

Yachi creeps away, looking sheepish, and Kenma slides down behind Tetsurou.

-X-

McCoy joins them the next day, Komori and Tooru at his side. “Well, I can’t give you a guarantee without further testing but it certainly  _ shouldn’t _ be  _ dangerous _ ,” McCoy says, opening a bag full of syringes. “But I’d advise trying it for the sickest first. It’s a gamble, but it’s our only real chance.”

Tetsurou struggles to sit up and look at Ushijima and Semi. “It’s your decision,” he says.

Ushijima crosses his arms, then sighs, looking at Tooru, who is looking very smug over his mask at Hajime while Hajime glares him down. “Hm?” he says, starting a little and glancing at Ushijima. “Oh, yes, I approve. I think Komori did the best job he could and he’s got quite the ability.”

Ushijima looks at Semi next, who shrugs desperately. “Look, I think I’m due for some luck,” he says, as though he doesn’t know what else to say.

“Very well,” Ushijima murmurs. “Let’s try it.”

McCoy sits on the side of the bed and inspects Tendou’s arm, likely looking for a good place to inject the serum despite all the thick scars.

Semi looks about ready to cry as he administers it, but he takes long breaths. Ushijima holds his shoulder, either for his own comfort or Semi’s.

“Not much to do but wait, now,” McCoy says, sitting back. “I don’t know how fast it’ll work, if it works.”

Ushijima nods. 

“Fuck, I really want to chew my nails right now,” Semi mutters. “But I don’t want to leave.”

“Stay strong,” Tetsurou says, wheezing a little.

“I really do hope it’ll work,” Komori murmurs.

“Yep,” Hajime says, grabbing Tooru by the shoulders. “There you go, job done, back to safety.”

“Alright, alright,” Tooru says, letting Hajime shove him away.

-X-

Despite Kenma’s tired glaring, Tetsurou wakes up every three hours to check Tendou’s breathing and fever. “‘S going down,” he says, coughing into his wrist, waving the thermometer.

“Really?” Komori asks brightly. “Oh, I’m so relieved.”

“If he gets under 39,5 degrees, we’ll start giving the serum to everyone else,” Tetsurou says. “Or if his breathing clears up a little more.”

Semi rubs his hands on his jeans nervously. “So it’s… it’s looking good?”

Tetsurou shrugs. “I don’t want to rush it, but let’s try to think positive.”

Semi nods. 

Despite all the tension in the air, after a few more hours it’s just boring. Tendou is awake, which has made everything seem a lot less dire, but mostly he’s just been dazed and coughing, letting Ushijima toy with his hair.

Semi has taken up a conversation with McCoy, carefully inspecting his claws as they murmur about something. He pokes it curiously, pulling away with a slightly amused, “Ow,” surprised by the sharpness.

“Who hurt you?” Tendou cries, stumbling out of bed before Ushijima can catch him. “I’ll kill them!”

He doesn’t make it very far before Ushijima does catch him, scooping him up so that Tendou is draped over his chest, arms drooping over Ushijima’s shoulders and legs wrapped around Ushijima’s waist like a koala. “I’ll kill ‘em,” he mumbles, flailing weakly.

“Alright,” Ushijima murmurs, patting his back like a baby’s. “But perhaps rest first.”

Tendou flops onto Ushijima’s shoulder, mumbling something into Ushijima’s neck. 

Semi can barely contain his laughter. “He’s feeling better.”

“I believe his fever is going down,” Ushijima adds, feeling Tendou’s forehead before letting him doze off again. 

“Let me check,” Tetsurou says, grabbing the thermometer. “39. I think we should start giving it to the rest, from most sick to least sick.” He tries to stand, then quickly sits back down. “And I will stay here.”

Kenma sighs and tugs him back into laying down. “Moron,” he mutters. “We’ve got it, Kuro.”

“Oh, hey, if you don’t need me, could someone tell me where Sakusa is?” Komori asks. “I think I’ll tell him the good news?”

Ushijima looks him up and down, looking as suspicious as Kenma feels. “Ask the Iwaizumis,” he says finally.

“Alright,” Komori says, ducking out of the room.

“You think he’s up to something?” Kenma asks, leaning close. 

“No, not really,” Ushijima says. “But if he is, Tooru will know.”

Kenma nods. He glances at Ushijima sidelong. He’d never thanked Ushijima for his power, but he doesn’t really want to either. Instead, he says, “Um… about romantic love.” He chews at his lip. “You’re not too far off.”

Ushijima blinks at him. Tendou is still in his arms, one of Ushijima’s hands on the back of his head. “Thank you,” he says.

“Relationships are more about communication than feeling the right thing anyway,” Kenma says, looking at his shoes.

Ushijima nods. “By the way,” he says. “I wasn’t sure how to bring this up to Akaashi, but when I was looking into Zurui, I did find that he made a… very large payment to a certain late associate of my father’s.”

Kenma’s stomach twists. “For Keiji?” he asks, earning a somber nod.

“If you’d like the money,” Ushijima says. “You may have it. Perhaps to buy a house?”

“Buy a house?” Kenma asks.

“Yes. I’m fairly certain I can arrange for someone to construct a connection between a house and the sewers without raising any suspicion.”

Kenma finds a smile nudging at the corner of his mouth. “Koutarou did want a place he can paint as much as he wants.”

Ushijima smiles back at him. “Ask Akaashi what he’d like, please, and get back to me.”

“I will,”  Kenma murmurs. “Thanks.”

-X-

“Alright,” Keiji says, plopping down on the couch beside Kenma. “How does this place look?”

“Great,” Kenma says.

“You have not even looked up from your game.”

“I trust your judgement.”

“Brat.”

“Go show Koutarou.”

“ _ Fine _ ,” Keiji sighs, stomping away with his laptop to show Koutarou as well. 

Kenma is left in blissful silence until Tetsurou comes and sits on him. “Hey,” he says. When Kenma glances up at him, he’s not sure he likes that look on Tetsurou’s face. 

“What?” Kenma mutters.

“My job doing plague elimination is done,” Tetsurou says. “Everyone seems to have recovered. Sakusa is staying with Ushijima. So is Komori, so he can deal with damage control if he needs to. So… time to open up.”

“There’s nothing to open up about,” Kenma says. “I was worried about you, and my powers suck. Same as always.”

“I just feel like you’re getting to some kind of breaking point,” Tetsurou says.

Kenma is quiet. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“We’re going to Fukurodani, you guys want to come?” Koutarou asks, poking his head in.

“Sure,” Tetsurou says. “Kenma, you coming?”

Kenma shrugs. If he stays cooped up at home, Tetsurou will just bug him even more when he comes back. “Yeah, whatever.”

-X-

Fukurodani, somehow, has managed to bake a cake for them, though Kimi gives it to Tetsurou alone at first. Kenma approves of the decision, because it makes Tetsurou smile and almost cry. 

“How did you bake that?” Keiji sighs. There’s a cheeky silence from all of them. “Guys. Did you steal an oven?” He crosses his arms. “Someone answer me. Did you steal an oven?”

“You can’t scold us,” Suzumeda says, crossing her own arms. “You’re not in charge anymore.”

“Yes I am,” Keiji snaps. “You asked me to come back.”

“No, we asked you to help. You didn’t unquit.”

“Well… fine. Then I unquit,” Keiji says. “So answer me.”

“We don’t want you in charge anymore!” Komi yells. “This is a mutiny!”

Keiji blinks at him. “What?”

“Uh,” Sarukui says, rubbing at the back of his head. “Yeah. We held a new vote.”

“And you voted me out?” Keiji says, gaping at them. “I was the one who made you all vote!”

“Look, it’s nothing personal,” Konoha says. “We just kind of agreed you’d probably be less freaked if you were… like… second in command.”

“ _ Second _ in…” Keiji says. His face is the funniest thing Kenma has seen in a week. “Seriously? Who did you put in charge  _ now _ ?”

There’s a bit of hesitation, and then they all point at Koutarou. Koutarou looks up from where he’s trying to steal as much cake from Tetsurou as he can. “Wait, what?” he says, blinking, wings flaring randomly. Kenma inches away to be safe.

“Look, when we were all all over the place, you were the one who got us to give Keiji a chance,” Komi says. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, we should have done that in the first place because Keiji was doing a way better job than we deserved, but uh…”

“We think Keiji should do the thinking and you should to the leading,” Washio says.

Keiji blinks, then shrugs. “I like it. You can count my vote in too.”

“What makes you think your vote counts?” Suzumeda jeers.

“I’m second in command, my vote counts more than yours,” Keiji snaps back at her.

She huffs. “I’ll allow it.”

Keiji rolls his eyes.

“But… I’m… I mean… I just paint things,” Koutarou says. “I have like… no skills, and I’m not all that smart, and…”

“You give good hugs, man,” Konoha says.

“And you’re very uplifting,” Onaga volunteers.

“Good at listening,” Washio says, then adds, “in your own way.”

Keiji smiles at him gently, and Koutarou relaxes slowly. “Uh,” he says. “Ok. I mean, I guess. I mean, if you want… I’ll do it.”

“That’s the spirit!” Suzumeda says, clapping him on the back.

Koutarou grins, bouncing right back to his boisterous self. “Aw man, this is gonna be so cool, we’re gonna have a secret door down here in our new house and…”

Yukie, who has been quiet for this whole time, stumbles forward and hugs Keiji tightly. Keiji blanches, looking at Kenma as though he hopes Kenma will help. Kenma shrugs at him as if to say,  _ What do you want me to do? _

“I’m so glad you’re staying,” she whispers. “If it wasn’t for me you wouldn’t have never had to go up against Zurui and I was sure you’d be so mad…”

“Oh,” Keiji says. “I’m… I’m not. Honestly I’m sort of glad I got to hit him in the face.” He reaches down to pat her head awkwardly. 

“I’m still… so, so sorry.”

Keiji sighs and hugs her back properly. “It’s alright. It happens.”

“You know,” she says, pulling away. “You’re just as big a softie as Koutarou, somewhere under that mean face.”

“You’re back already,” Keiji says with a tired face. “How I missed you.”

Kenma can’t help but smile as Yukie punches Keiji on the shoulder. Everything feels a little like it’s coming together, settling into the new place. The new place, Koutarou and Keiji and their many adopted children, Tetsurou and the job he was always meant for, Kenma and the job he’d always wanted…

Everything but Kenma himself.

-X-

He avoids this realization until they’ve bought the house and unpacked the last of their boxes. Tomorrow they’ll be starting construction in their basement, but for now Koutarou is just putting matching sheets on the massive, several mattress construction they’d build for the three of them and the small corner they’d made for Kenma, close enough to feel included but far enough not to touch.

Kenma finds himself on the couch, the reality of having moved out of the Institute finally sinking in.

The Institute had been as much a hiding place for him as it had been for Tooru, a place to hide from yourself, to hide from the loved ones he posed a threat to. Even with all the chaos that had surrounded Tooru’s move out, he can’t imagine how Tooru managed it.

Tetsurou sits down next to him. “You ok?” he asks. He’s been asking that a lot.

“If we have sex I’m out of workarounds,” Kenma says. “I have no more ideas. That’s as close as we can get.”

Tetsurou nods. 

“It’s not close enough,” Kenma says. 

Tetsurou doesn’t say anything, just sits and waits for Kenma to talk.

Kenma lets out a high pitched growl, pulling at his hair. “It’s not even about  _ closeness _ I just… I’m so  _ tired _ , Tetsurou. I just want to be able to not… to not be careful for just… just one day.”

“And you wish you’d found something to fix it,” Tetsurou murmurs.

Kenma shakes his head, and Tetsurou frowns, looking confused. “I wouldn’t give it up,” Kenma says. “I’d never give my power up. It’s  _ me. _ But I… I’m still so fucking tired.”

Tetsurou nods, albeit slower this time. “What do you need me to do?”

Kenma looks at him, shaking his head. “Nothing. There’s nothing to do.”

Tetsurou sighs, throwing an arm around him and giving him as long a peck on the top of his head as he dares. “Alright,” he says. “Then we’ll just stay together and do our best, like always.”

Kenma sniffles, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “Sounds good.”

“Hey, you guys coming?” Koutarou says. He flaps his wings, still overjoyed to find that the large, open rooms in the house they’d chosen give him enough room to do so. “We’re watching a movie.”

“Yeah, we’re coming,” Tetsurou yells back. He turns back to Kenma and smiles, pulling his hood over his head. “Come on. I think you need a cuddle pile.”

Kenma laughs. “Yeah, I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week: Bokuto goes flying.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He nestles close to Keiji, feeling warm and happy as they start the episode. “I really love you guys,” he murmurs.
> 
> “We love you too,” Keiji murmurs, kissing his knuckles. 
> 
> “Yes we do,” Tetsurou adds.
> 
> Kenma shushes them, but softly, in a way that says, Me too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooop. I finished this suuuuper last minute.

At this point, Koutarou has gotten used to sleeping from 8 in the evening to 3 in the morning. He’d thought it would be miserable, waking up so early, but it seems comfortable right now.

Tetsurou, despite having started on Keiji’s other side, has somehow rolled on top of both of them, his knee in Keiji’s neck as Keiji drools on Koutarou’s shirt, his leg intertwined with Koutarou’s.

It takes Koutarou a good twenty minutes to get out from under them, leaving Tetsurou to wrap his arm around Keiji in Koutarou’s place. Kenma looks out from his bed, which is higher than their own. Koutarou thinks he likes that this way he can look at all of them at once a little easier, even from a safe distance. He wonders if a hammock might work even better, being a little higher.

“Go to sleep,” Koutarou whispers.

“After I beat this boss,” Kenma whispers back.

“Alriiiight,” Koutarou murmurs, pulling clean clothes from the dresser beside their bed. He takes the stairs slowly to the kitchen (somehow stairs are _still_ hard with wings) and eats a bit of the cookies he’d made yesterday. He stuffs the rest into his bag before tying it around his waist.

He gets changed and clambers out the window, taking a deep breath of fresh air.

Another benefit of waking up this early is that no one can see him flying in the dark.

He drops out of the window and glides high enough that not even a few stray night owls will see him, and settles into a good rhythm. He flies around the neighborhood, watching the quiet streets, the dark windows.

He misses just going out in public comfortably, sure, but this is nice too, exploring the skies when the world is his.

He finally settles on the Iwaizumi’s balcony, gently rapping on the window.

Tooru opens it a moment later, smiling brightly at Koutarou. He tends to sleep in smaller bursts, and when Koutarou is awake for the day, he’s usually taking a break in his sleeping.

Once the door is open, Koutarou slips inside before the neighbors can see him.

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Tooru says, holding a cup of tea that’s stirring itself. “The neighbors probably think the building is haunted, what with the rattling and objects flying about and the screaming.” He tastes the tea carefully.

“I brought you cookies!” Koutarou says, showing him the bag.

Tooru grins. “Ooooh, what kind?”

“Lemon!” Koutarou chirps, letting Tooru take a handful.

They sit in front of the balcony, watching the stars and eating until Hajime shuffles into the room, looking sleepy. “Hi, Bokuto,” he mutters, rubbing at his eye with his sleeve. He pokes at Tooru’s side with his foot, earning a theatrical whine, at which point he drags himself around and plants himself in Tooru’s lap to go back to sleep.

Tooru winds one of his arms around him and sighs happily.

After a little while longer, he smiles at Bokuto. “You should probably head back. It’s getting light out.”

“Oh!” Koutarou cries, making Hajime stir. “Yeah, it is. See you tomorrow?”

Tooru nods, and Koutarou dives off the balcony.

By the time he’s gotten back, Tetsurou is already awake and making enough omelets for everyone. It smells divine.

“Coffee?” Koutarou asks, holding up the coffee pot. Tetsurou squints at him. Koutarou grins. “Coffee.”

“Oh,” Tetsurou says, much later. “Coffee. Yes.”

Koutarou gently presses a cup into his hand.

-X-

Even after he’s had breakfast with Tetsurou and shoved him out the door with a kiss, Koutarou still has time to paint some before Keiji drags himself into the studio with a cup of coffee and a sandwich he’d made out of the omelet. “Do you think Kenma will be up before noon, or should I dump him out of bed?” he asks. “Ushijima-san is coming over then.”

“You can dump him out of bed at 11:30,” Koutarou says.

Keiji sighs, settling down behind Koutarou to eat. “Fine.”

Koutarou chuckles and keeps painting.

At 11:30, Koutarou makes his way to the basement eagerly, waiting over the frankly concerning hole in the middle of the floor until Komi finally climbs his way up. “Hi,” Komi says, shaking dirt out of his hair. “Yukie told me to tell you we need to reinforce the entrance from below.”

“Well, Ushijima is coming soon,” Koutarou says. “You should take it up with him.” He hauls up the box of food he’d gathered over the week. “And we need to get this down.”

“Oooh,” Komi says. “Is that a can of peaches?”

“ _Share_ it,” Keiji calls as he comes down the stairs. “Oh, by the way, don’t approach Kenma for a little while, he’s _very_ angry for some reason.”

Koutarou groans, but he kisses Keiji on the nose anyway.

 Komi sadly puts the peaches back in the box.

Ushijima arrives a while later, Tendou and Goshiki in tow. Komi grins and reaches up to ruffle Goshiki’s hair.

Tendou, at the moment, isn’t using the mirage. He’s still yawning, and somehow Koutarou suspects he’s about as happy to be awake as Kenma is. He latches onto Ushijima’s arm and attempts to fall asleep standing. Ushijima glances down at him softly, then turns back to Keiji.

“Yukie thinks we should be reinforcing the bottom of the entrance,” Keiji says. “What do you think?”

“It seems a good idea,” Ushijima says. “We brought a few materials. Goshiki can brace it while I put the elements in place. We can work on widening the hole after we’ve done that.”

Keiji nods. “Sounds good.”

Ushijima puts his hand on Tendou’s back. “I need to go. Please let go.”

“Cruel,” Tendou whispers, but he does as instructed and stands up, yawning as he pulls up his image.

Goshiki jumps down the hole, pressing up a purple plate. “You can put the crate on there!” he calls up. “I’ll bring it down.”

Koutarou leaps to help Komi lift it on, and Goshiki lowers it down gently.

“Alright,” Keiji sighs, stretching a little. “It’s time for me to do my morning scolding, I think.”

“I’ll be here,” Koutarou says. “Managing.”

“Very good,” Keiji says, and joins the rest below while Koutarou tries to get close enough to the hole that he can wave at Konoha.

-X-

By the end of the day, everything is looking rather good, and they return to the upstairs to help Kenma make dinner before Tetsurou’s return. Aside from smearing Keiji’s face with rice, Kenma seems to have forgiven him for his rude awakening, and they prepare food in a good mood.

Tetsurou texts them when he’s almost home, and they set the table so that he can drag himself straight from the door to the nearest chair and wait for food.

“Are we watching something after dinner?” Kenma asks, once they’ve all served themselves. His portion is comically smaller than everyone else’s. “We could start a new anime.”

“I’m done with my work for today, I think,” Keiji says, shrugging.

“Yeah, I’m good too,” Koutarou says. “Let’s watch something cute!”

Kenma smiles. “I think we can manage that.”

“I gotta do the laundry first,” Tetsurou says. “But after that, sure.”

They set up while he puts in the first load. Kenma bundles up so he can sit in Tetsurou’s lap as he sits down, his feet in Keiji’s, occasionally kicking when Keiji tickles his feet absently. Koutarou sits with his head on Keiji’s shoulder, wrapping a wing around all three of them.

He nestles close to Keiji, feeling warm and happy as they start the episode. “I really love you guys,” he murmurs.

“We love you too,” Keiji murmurs, kissing his knuckles.

“Yes we do,” Tetsurou adds.

Kenma shushes them, but softly, in a way that says, _Me too._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. That's that. See you guys in October... ish... I think?

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment or come talk to me on [Tumblr](http://dgalerab.tumblr.com/)!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Froggy Friends](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11055945) by [fxvixen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fxvixen/pseuds/fxvixen)




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